


Camaro

by Vapewraith



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: A lot of Gavin’s chest, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Banging on top of a car, Car Wash - Freeform, Choking, Clothed Sex, Coming Untouched, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Nipple Piercings, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Size Kink, Wire Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 11:34:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 43,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24849085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vapewraith/pseuds/Vapewraith
Summary: Connor drags RK900 to the yearly DPD car wash against his wishes. What starts as an exercise in boredom quickly spirals into every kind of frustration imaginable—physical, emotional, and Gavin in spandex leggings.RK900 is determined to find a satisfactory solution to both Gavin’s obnoxious attitude, and the confusing barrage of feelings that always seem to follow in the detective’s wake. With any luck, it’ll have the added benefit of getting Connor off his back, as well.
Relationships: Upgraded Connor | RK900/Gavin Reed
Comments: 87
Kudos: 404





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically just a whole lotta porn with some feels and a mini-android existential crisis thrown in for good measure

_Take a Bite Out of Crime!_

The patronizing cartoon dog stared at RK900 from the front of the t-shirt. RK900 glared at it, nudging the sorry excuse for an outfit, as if extra scrutiny would somehow make it—and by extension, this day—disappear.

“Connor,” RK900 accused, “this is a dog in a trench coat.” He failed to mask the disgust in his voice. “You intend for me to exit the house wearing the image of a _dog in a trench coat?_ ” The android held the threadbare shirt at arm’s length, ice chip eyes noting every micro-tear.

“Lighten up, brother!” Connor chirped. He poked his head through RK900’s doorway, bright smile beaming on his pale face. “We both know you’d mangle a car if a drop of water got on _your_ clothes.” Connor shot RK900 a crafty look, and blew a curl out of his face. “Seems odd it would matter...you aren’t trying to _impress_ anyone, are you?”

“I simply want it on record that I, in no way, consider this dog a form of acceptable fashion,” RK900 snapped—a bit too fast and too defensive. He shook his head, and removed his pajamas, before carefully folding them. He set them down in their spot: the front corner of the third drawer. Reluctantly, he slid on the t-shirt, and smoothed it over his torso. It was large, much too wide for his slim frame. He glared at the dog, and the dog held fast to its perpetual wink.

“I assume this belongs to Hank?” RK900 studied himself in the mounted mirror on the opposite side of his tiny room. He looked garish, lost, out of place. RK900 frowned.

“You would make a magnificent detective, brother,” Connor called from the living room. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

Nervous energy hummed low in the periphery of RK900’s nervous system—a mounting sense of dread he couldn’t place. Likely a byproduct of bulky emotions he’d developed over the last four months, much to his dismay. Androids weren’t meant to fret over the pointless, not like their organic counterparts.

RK900 slid on a pair of Connor’s old jeans. His predecessor was shorter, with less defined muscle tone, leading to an overly sung fit. On top of it all, the denim was rife with unintentional holes. Connor, per usual, had no taste for the finer things in life. RK900 exited his room, closing the door behind him.

“I see the lieutenant’s brand of middle aged humor has worn off on you.” RK900 paused at the mouth of the bedroom hallway, leaning against the wall, arms crossed.

Connor adjusted his white tennis shoes, and stood. He motioned for RK900 to join him, as he pulled open the front door of their apartment, but the younger android remained steadfast in his spot. Connor frowned, letting his disappointment hang in the air between the two.

“Are you not coming, RK900?” Less a question than an accusation. Connor had instigated full interrogations over less. He sighed, and ran a hand through his loose curls, forcing stringent eye contact with his successor. “You do know Detective Reed will be there, right?”

RK900 pushed off the wall, and snapped. “The detective’s presence has little to no bearing on my decision to participate in extracurricular work activities!” His pulse increased a few ticks, but he quickly wiped away any trace of the outburst. “If anything,” RK900 clarified, “it would be a boon, should he decide not to attend.”

Silence percolated between the two androids—a thick, tangible quiet. The kind that weighed on RK900’s shoulders, burrowing its claws deep into his artificial muscles. Connor cocked his head to the side, and RK900 all but felt the other android’s preconstructions ripping him apart over and over and over again. A roadmap guiding Connor’s hand.

“Call it an older brother’s intuition,” Connor murmured, “but I think you and Detective Reed _should_ spend more time socializing outside of work.”

“An odd choice of phrase,” RK900 hissed, sizing up the other RK model. “Androids cannot have siblings.” A philosophical conversation they’d had more than a few times. These days, RK900 wielded it as a weapon. No matter his actual feelings, he understood he and the RK800 were inextricably tied together. Their flavor—be it friends, family, or enemies—depended on the day.

“I suppose they can’t have hobbies or fall in love, either?” Connor asserted, sliding in front of RK900.

“You said it, not me.”

A strong hand closed around the younger android’s wrist. Connor tugged his successor towards the front door, cryptic smile wound across his face.

“A shame you don’t actually believe that, brother.” Connor winked, and waved his hand.

Connor was correct. RK900 didn’t believe his own inflammatory words, but he wished he did. Culling emotions was far easier than taking the needed steps to fulfill them. A purge would solve most, if not all, of his problems.

Their door closed and locked with a chime, notifying its owners of a twelve hour lockout. Child’s play. RK900 could bypass it in seconds— _did_ bypass it in seconds. A hollow victory. He’d already agreed to this extravagant waste of time. There was little point in delaying the inevitable.

The two androids headed to the front of their building, where a cab waited to collect them. Connor beamed, while his successor simmered in self-inflicted frustration. RK900 coveted Connor’s lackadaisical attitude, the carefree way he navigated the world at large. He focused on that, in lieu of his own internalized debate.

_[Query: Do I hope Reed will actually attend?]_

_[Response: Error 002453–Query quarantined before data could be cataloged. Preconstruction prematurely terminated.]_

—

Wispy clouds blanketed the morning sky, growing thicker by the minute. Sparse rays of sunlight broke through the cover, highlighting the old skyscrapers of downtown Detroit. Their automated taxi delved further into the outer sprawl, leaving the familiarity of towering concrete and glass in the distance.

Bleak buildings and bleaker streets surrounded the cab. Graffiti caked restaurants and small businesses flew past in a blur of color and ancient brick, mixing with new construction and young trees—a city in constant flux. Titanic factories leered from the roadside, their steel guts and identities long ago eviscerated by scrappers of every social strata. They’d been passed onto Detroit’s newest species, and retooled into android community hubs.

_Packard Industries: Motorcity, USA,_ rose above the road in vibrant red on white—the historic bridge restored to its former glory. CyberLife’s land development sector had only just completed renovating the old plant. Once a magnet for blight obsessed urban explorers, the buildings now housed luxury android apartments and boutique upstarts.

The taxi pulled into a nondescript stripmall full of squat buildings, a few businesses prospering between the dated husks of dead department stores. Wide, open tarmac stretched between them, the parking spots in dire need of a repaint, or three. In the middle of it all, milled RK900’s DPD colleagues. They waved at the approaching taxi.

Upon exiting, RK900 stood away from the group, lingering far enough not to be bothered, but close enough to eavesdrop. Joining the circle would imply he wanted to engage in small talk instead of rip out his own battery. RK900 didn’t have kids or pets or book clubs or the latest video games—all he had was _[Thought quarantined.]_

“Look who made it!” Anderson’s deep bellow echoed around the skeletal remains of the area. His ugly Hawaiian shirt injected some much needed color into the drab locale. Connor beelined for Anderson, sliding into the spot beside his partner. The human sipped at his beer, and gave Connor’s curls an affectionate ruffle. “Beginning to think you boys found something better to do on your Saturday—god forbid.”

“Real cute, Hank,” Fowler groused. Streaks of latex paint caked his blue polo shirt and dark jeans. RK900 recalled some kind of correlation between middle aged men and self-directed home improvement projects. Grilling, as well. He feared the day Connor decided to repaint their entire apartment out of solidarity.

“C’mon, Jeffrey,” Anderson said bitterly, “lighten up. It’s the weekend.” He nodded to the six-pack at his feet—an offering. Fowler rubbed his chin, and relented, accepting Anderson’s gift.

“Hank, you’re a terrible influence,” Fowler sighed, popping the cap off his beer. “Better be glad you’re a damn good detective.” The two men clinked their bottles together, and took a sip.

“Odd,” Connor murmured, glancing around the empty parking lot. “Has Detective Reed not arrived, yet? His tardiness rarely exceeds five minutes.”

“Christ!” Anderson spit out a mouthful of beer at the mention of RK900’s partner. He sputtered, suds spilling onto his beard, eyes wide. “Don’t say his name three times, or you might summon him.”

Reed’s superiors continued to talk about Reed without actually talking about Reed. Roundabout descriptions of the detective, implicating him in some minor Incident during one of the previous car washes. None of it surprised RK900. Reed's struggle to be the center of attention was as hardwired into his brain as psychological interrogation was to RK900’s programming.

[Sorry.]

A single, electric-blue word appeared in the matrix of RK900’s mind.

[I genuinely believed he would show up.] Connor offered an apologetic look.

A puddle at RK900’s feet reflected his LED—bright and red, not unlike the letters along the length of the Packard Plant bridge. He frowned, and shook free his balled fist. _When did I…?_ It didn’t matter, RK900 shouldn’t be feeling anything close to disappointment. He considered recusing himself to soft reboot his systems and clear his emotion caches, but thought better of it.

Captain Fowler called for his officers to gather. Most were already a part of the growing circle, but a few stragglers made their way forward, with donuts and coffee, from a nearby shop. RK900 continued to stand just out of reach, keeping a constant vigil for any new arrivals.

“I know—I get it.” Fowler addressed everyone from atop a red milk crate. “All of you want to be home, sleeping or playing video games.” He pointed to a few younger humans—offspring, some officers had brought along. “But today’s about giving something back to the community.”

Everyone murmured amongst themselves, the younger humans in particular. Gossip and jokes flew around the group. Never loud enough to interrupt or detract from Captain Fowler, though.

“It’s Team A’s job to go around the block and pick up any trash they find.” Fowler gestured to a pile of pointed sticks and black trash bags. They crumpled in the light wind, and a few of the teenagers spared each other displeased glances. “And Team B’s on car wash duty.” The captain handed one of the kids a hand painted sign— _Free Car Wash!_ It even included an arrow.

Grumbling and laughing, everyone dispersed into their designated groups. They collected their tools and loudly discussed facets of their home life. Barbeques and camping trips dominated the majority of the conversations.

“Here.”

A soft but scratchy texture lit up RK900’s skin sensors. He rubbed his arm, and studied the yellow brick Connor held out to him. A sponge. RK900 scanned its surface out of habit, then snatched it from his predecessor.

“Maybe he’ll show next time, brother.” Connor patted RK900 on the back, and offered a small smile.

“You’re aware I’m capable of washing a car without the taxing presence of my partner?” RK900 asked, cold heat simmering in the depths of his plasteel guts.

“Naturally, brother,” Connor sighed. He reassuringly squeezed RK900’s upper arm. “I understand you’re an autonomous unit, who has no need for humans.” Without warning, the older android splashed his successor with a wet rag. “But I think your affinity for a certain detective may be greater than you let on.”

RK900 reached for his predecessor, who weaved out of the way with graceful precision and a keen grin. Connor trotted over to Anderson, glueing himself to the human within a matter of seconds. A blue Mazda pulled in front of them, and the pair set to work scrubbing its exterior. Their movements flowed, working in perfect tandem with one another.

“C’mon, kid.” Fowler nodded to the small line of cars forming. “I promise the water won’t make you melt.”

Time passed in a slow motion tango. Cars trickled into the parking lot—some to be washed and others to patronize the surrounding businesses. The streets sluggishly lurched to life, as people began their day proper. Pedestrians and kids ran along the sidewalks. Androids started to emerge from stasis, mixing their chores with those of the resident humans.

An iridescent violet Tesla parked in front of RK900’s team. RK900 was surprised to see an AX400 slide out of the driver’s seat. Most androids didn’t care to flaunt their wealth, much less own an analog vehicle. She smiled at RK900, pitch black hair tied into a tight, spotless bun, and sipped at her Thirium latte. He deduced she was on a conference call of some sort, given the constant flicker of her LED. Her impressive power suit reminded RK900 how out of place he felt, not only in this task, but in Connor’s borrowed clothing. Perhaps that was the point of the exercise—being forced out of one’s comfort zone.

“My kids won’t shut up about these,” Fowler muttered, spraying down the Tesla. “Say, RK900.” He turned to the android. “Can you grab a pic of me with this thing? Gotta make ‘em jealous for sleeping in today.”

RK900 simply nodded, and accepted Fowler’s cell phone. The notoriously compartmentalized captain rarely, if ever, discussed his family at the precinct, and RK900 was a bit taken aback at the image of Fowler, sitting next to a woman and two children on the lock screen. The android took the photo, and handed the phone back to his superior officer.

“Thanks, son.” Fowler patted RK900’s back in appreciation, and resumed hosing down the car without another word.

The AX400 offered RK900 a digital business card and a wink on her way out of the parking lot—a VP for a high end marketing firm. She’d likely mistaken him for an RK800, which were in high demand in corporate circles. Their ruthless ambition and unwavering loyalty made them ideal candidates for upper management.

Only five RK900s made it into production. All were immediately courted by the NSA and CIA, but RK900 turned down the agencies, choosing to remain a lowly detective for the DPD. He fed them nonsense about a future transition to CyberLife’s Industrial Espionage Management Department, but he’d yet to admit the real reason for his decision out loud—to anyone, himself included.

RK900 set to work cleaning an older Jeep. No matter how much he sprayed its grill, the grime kept coming. After ten minutes of manic scrubbing, the owner insisted it was clean “enough.” Unacceptable. RK900 shot the human an Antarctic glare, and continued triaging the situation with his sponge.

Connor strolled over to the Jeep, intent on making RK900’s task that much harder. He dropped to a squat, next to his successor, and opened his mouth, but a loud growl overtook the area, washing out whatever Connor meant to say. The two androids stood in tandem, surveying the area.

Tires squeaked, both near and far. The Jeep owner took off, finally free of RK900’s exacting standards. _His loss_ , RK900 thought bitterly. In truth, he could care less, hypnotized as he was by a blinding orange Camaro that tore into the parking lot.

The Camaro’s metallic finish glinted in the weak morning sunlight, racing stripes spanning the length of its curvilinear body, from nose to spoiler. As beautiful as the car was, RK900 couldn't help but find the whole thing a bit gaudy. What kind of person cut across suburban parking lots at forty miles per hour? A shame RK900 wasn’t authorized to write tickets.

The car came to a screeching halt about ten feet away from the makeshift car wash. RK900 stared at the black rubber trails left in the wake of its immediate stop, nose wrinkling in displeasure. Its overcharged engine fell quiet, sleek body coming to rest across three parking spaces.

RK900 lurched forward, hellbent on telling off the driver. Connor opened his mouth to intervene, but both were cut off by Anderson.

“Here we go again…,” Anderson whistled, clapping a hand against the top of the minivan he’d been washing.

Detective Gavin Reed emerged from the driver’s side of the Camaro, face covered in a pair of oversized sunglasses. He slid them on top of his head, muted green eyes harboring the kind of irritability on par with a chemical burn. He glanced at his phone through the tinted window glass, and tossed it back into the car.

“Nice of you to join us, Reed,” Anderson yelled.

“Keep it in your pants, Anderson,” Reed shouted. He reverently slid a hand along the roof of his Camaro. It lasted long enough that RK900 half expected Reed to plant a kiss onto the hot metal. Reed shot his superior a crooked grin, adding to his little peacock dance.

“Least I’m not out here trying to publicly compensate for something,” Anderson chuckled.

Reed rolled his eyes, and slammed his door shut. “Don’t hate me ‘cause you can’t pull it off, old man.”

“God, I wish I was still young and stupid,” Anderson murmurred, shaking his head. “Those were the days.”

Sleek spandex ran the length of Reed’s legs, ending a few inches above his ankles—black and orange, like his car. RK900 would scoff at the coordination if he hadn’t been too busy trying to regulate the beat of his Thirium pump. _Painted_ described the legging’s relationship to Reed’s body. They hid nothing—every single curve and line, perfectly on display, for RK900 to see. His white v-neck, while loose, still hugged the man’s chest. The android visibly swallowed.

Error notices percolated in the corner of RK900’s vision, little motes of red swirling and weaving throughout his precisely orchestrated web of thoughts. He’d been partnered with Reed for months, and never once seen this side of the man. Reed drove a clunky Crown Victoria to the station every day, and perpetually looked like he just rolled out of a dirty laundry hamper. All of which reflected his abject goblin of a personality.

Except, here was Gavin Reed, standing next to an admittedly nice car, looking like a composed human being. His hair, his outfit, even the orange Pumas on his feet refuted his identity. If not for the bad jokes, RK900 would swear a doppelgänger killed Reed and replaced him in the dead of the night.

[Pick up your jaw, brother.] Connor projected—the smug little gremlin. RK900 glared at his predecessor, trying to swallow a blush.

“Reed!” Fowler joined the tiny crowd of DPD employees who’d gathered to watch the impending showdown between Reed and Anderson. “Glad you found it in your _busy_ schedule to fit us in.”

“Ain’t like we’re gettin’ paid for this gig,” Reed huffed, shaking his head. He approached the group, shoes squeaking against the asphalt.

“I see you’re as pleasant on your days off as you are during the week,” RK900 said. Dry ice infused his tone, and Reed didn’t disappoint.

“Good to see you too, Terminator.”

“You’re late, Reed,” RK900 chided.

“Jesus,” Reed griped, pinching his nose. “I was at the fuckin’ gym and lost track of time. So, sue me, goddammit! I’m here, now! What more do you want, Nines?”

RK900 rounded on his partner, looking the man dead in his muted green eyes. Some of his gravitas faltered, however, when the android took notice of the way Reed’s chest brimmed in his shirt—fabric primed to burst.

“Make yourself useful.” The android shoved a sponge into Reed’s hands. “I refuse to carry your weight on my day off, as well.”

“Haha, real fuckin’ funny, Nines,” Reed snapped. He cocked an eyebrow, and dropped the sponge at RK900’s feet. The human smiled, amusement failing to reach his eyes, and stomped off in Tina Chen’s direction.

[We all saw you check him out, brother.]

Connor’s cheeky commentary was quickly amounting to the equivalent of a human migraine. RK900 stomped the sponge Reed so readily discarded, and turned to face his predecessor.

“Pursue this line of conversation any further, and I _will_ excise your battery, Connor,” RK900 hissed. Connor failed to react in any meaningful way, clearly unphased by the not-so-idle threat.

“Whoa.” Reed slid in between the two androids, purposefully bumping his shoulder into RK900 as he passed. “Sibling rivalry coming in _hot_ .” It took every ounce of RK900’s self-control _not_ to grab the human.

Chaos trailed Gavin Reed, practically wound around him like an invisible leash. He had a tendency to push and push and push, until everyone around him stooped to his level. An otherwise capable man, Reed was prone to hiding behind snide jabs and errant threats of physical violence. RK900 had learned these lessons the hard way—often falling prey to the man’s traps in the early days of their partnership.

For whatever reason, Reed craved the kind of aggression and psychological abrasion native to RK900’s baseline programming. The man didn’t fall into some readily available category—he hadn’t suffered a severe trauma, like Anderson—but he still fell back on self-destructive coping mechanisms. The four months he’d spent in Reed’s company convinced RK900 that some humans lacked rhyme and reason. They just _were_ —their internal motives a mystery to all, themselves included.

Regardless, RK900 craved a healthier outlet for their opposing magnetism. Something that didn’t end in late night fist fights at a shady diner, in the wee hours of the morning.

Cold bloomed along RK900’s flank, drawing him out of his headspace. Water soaked his shirt and jeans, as Reed pointed a hose in the android’s direction. His signature gremlin-wheeze followed close behind, but RK900 refused him the satisfaction he desired.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Reed started, frustration hinting in his voice. “Your big brother’s annoying as hell, but it’s never a good idea to threaten murder in front of, well, _all_ of homicide.” He slapped the mouth of the hose in his hand, again and again, waiting for RK900 to _do_ something.

“Purely circumstantial,” RK900 snipped. He stole the hose out of Reed’s hands, and turned his attention towards a newly arrived Subaru. He detected the slightest hint of grinding tooth enamel behind him, and adopted a minuscule smile.

“Reed,” Fowler snapped, “today’s about building camaraderie—not trying to goad your partner into strangling you. Not that I’d blame him, if he did.”

Reed cursed under his breath, and squeezed a soapy sponge. Sudsy water spewed in every direction, including onto Reed’s ample chest. Small patches of wet clung to his pecs, revealing the barest hint of the skin beneath. RK900 caught himself staring, pump building into a minor crescendo in his chest. When his preconstruction lenses slid into place, RK900 turned away, dead set on preventing himself from predicting his _partner’s_ bare torso.

Dirty water cascaded down the side of an old Subaru. Grime, pollution, and months old road salt, mixed together in an unpleasant slurry. Automated car washes existed, capable of completing this exact job in under five minutes. RK900 understood the exercise was a social contract, but had yet to find the silver lining.

Anticipation bubbled in Rk900’s chest. He’d spent so much time in Reed’s company, but _this_ felt different somehow. The man stood a few steps away, telling jokes, but the air between the two detectives bore all the marks of an impending storm. He had a keen awareness of Reed’s troubled presence, and the sense that seeing one another outside of work hours violated some social taboo.

RK900 finished wiping down the Subaru, freeing his hands and thoughts. He glanced around, looking for another task, and dropped his hose with a start.

Reed stood, bent over the trunk of an idle sedan, ankles crossed, ass held high in the air. Curves ran the sculpted length of the detective’s legs, from ankle to thick thigh, ending on a plump buttocks. He said something to Chen, completely oblivious to his transgression, and had the audacity to laugh.

The human shifted his weight, and RK900 stared. He didn’t want to stare, but some primordial protocol seized control of his mind, at the buffet of thigh and ass laid out no less than two feet away. No preconstruction necessary. The thin spandex did a fabulous job of leaving _nothing_ to the imagination. None of that was to imply RK900 wasn’t already preconstructing other _elements_ —pliability or softness, for instance, cushioning factors.

RK900 had grown accustomed to Reed’s ill-fitting jeans and worn leather jacket. Loose, baggy harbingers of a preemptive mid-life crisis. Tattered jeans and a tattered car—pleas of a man who’d all but thrown in the towel. _Except..._

The android lost his footing, skittering a few steps closer to the detective. He glanced over his shoulder, glaring at his predecessor—the same one who’d purposefully collided with him.

[Go help _your_ detective.] Brown eyes shifted towards Reed. [You’re welcome.]

Failing to notice the bickering androids behind him, Reed reached for a sponge situated on the roof of the car. Instead of standing next to the passenger side window, and easily plucking it from the roof, he stretched along the _length_ of the back hood. Back arched, Reed grunted and groaned every time the tips of his fingers made contact with the little sponge. He slid a knee onto the car, absentmindedly spreading his legs wide.

Under normal circumstances, RK900 would have written off the stunt as Reed being Reed. Under normal circumstances, Reed wouldn’t be wearing fabric tight enough to so perfectly highlight those globes and the hinted gulf between them. Under normal circumstances, RK900 wouldn’t have to forcibly flush the warm tingle infiltrating his guts.

_[Query:_ What _is wrong with me?]_

_This_ couldn’t continue. For the sake of RK900’s haywire systems, he needed to put a stop to his menace of a partner. He quickly strode to the side of the sedan, and plucked the sponge off the roof. RK900 slammed it against the trunk, right in front of Reed. It made an obscene squelch on impact, drawing a slight wince from both men.

“You missed a spot,” RK900 admonished.

“You callin’ me short, toaster?” Gavin sneered, placing both feet back on the earth. A paradoxical wave of both relief and frustration washed over RK900. “It’s real funny, ‘cause five-nine ain’t short.”

“Correct,” RK900 responded, voice level and impassive, despite the colored barrage in his mind. “It’s average.”

Reed’s eyes narrowed into grey-green slits. “Sounds like you got something to say to me, Nines.” The human was testier than usual, his heart pounding at a breakneck pace. He harbored an aggression that hearkened back to their earliest weeks as partners.

“I never fail to say things directly to your face, and you never fail to ignore every single word,” RK900 retorted.

The detective averted his gaze, chest slowly filling with hot air. More water had found its way to his shirt, further dampening the fabric. RK900 detected the translucent pink of a nipple, and _something_ else. Reed scuttled to the other side of the car, before RK900 could take a closer look.

RK900 calmed his system, adjusting settings until everything returned to a semblance of equilibrium. He watched Reed— _a precaution,_ he said. For what, he couldn’t admit. Digging into his true motives would only open the floodgates to a million or more queries he’d banished into the deepest recesses of his labyrinthine mind.

Harsh truths, which required a great effort to decode, and even more to actualize.

—

The interior of the restaurant echoed its desolate exterior. Grime and dust coated every available surface. Walls, a dark grey, were covered in hundreds of small, mounted memorabilia. RK900 ran a finger along a glass case housing a baseball, and rubbed his fingers together. A healthy film of particulates lit up his sensors, and he winced in disgust.

“I know this place doesn’t look like much, but it’s got the best burgers in town.” Anderson patted RK900’s shoulder. “Hole in the walls always do.” Life lesson complete, Anderson seated himself in a nearby booth. Fowler slid opposite his lieutenant, and Collins happily joined his captain. Connor rushed past RK900, practically leaping into the open spot, next to Anderson. He cozied up next to his partner, shooting RK900 a sly grin.

Chen’s high pitched laughter bounced off the walls, and RK900 resigned himself to the promise of a bad time. He shot Connor a single glare, and headed to the adjacent booth. Chen and Miller sat side by side, egging on Reed, as the detective told one of his questionable stories. RK900 plopped next to his partner, quick and silent, interrupting the punchline of past Reed’s poor life choices.

Chris Miller greeted RK900 with a friendly, “hi,” asking the android about his day so far. Chen followed in similar, socially acceptable terms. Reed, on the other hand, locked up, his muscles noticeably stiffening under the thin material of his hooded jacket. He grabbed his phone, and furiously refreshed his Twitter timeline.

RK900 didn’t bother addressing Reed or his phone, he simply hacked the device as he conversed with Miller and Chen. Image after image of fitness tips, weightlifters, and male models greeted RK900, with a few text posts interspersed into the mix. Far less salacious than the android predicted, but RK900 also had a feeling Reed kept his phone free of anything incriminating— _because_ of the android, not in spite of him.

Reed received a text message: _“No texting during family time asshole.”_ RK900 pinpointed its origin to Chen’s phone. She’d been designated, _That Bitch,_ in Reed’s directory. A smile, small but subtle, crept across the android’s face.

“See, he agrees with me, Gav,” Chen chided.

“Yeah? Well, he agrees with anything that prolongs my misery,” Reed huffed. He tossed his phone onto the table, and it landed with a clunk. The unmistakable hint of pink tinted his stubble covered cheeks.

Small talk dragged on and on, until a waitress placed three red baskets onto the table. Each held a burger and French fries, brimming with untoward amounts of grease. Chen wasted no time shoving a fry into her mouth.

“Hey, RK900,” she posited, “can you guys eat? Like, at all?” She munched on a pickle spear, emphatically waving it in the air. “People food, I mean.”

The android ignored her question, and simply stared at the mountain of yellow fries. He noted every crystalline chunk of sodium and malformed grease globule on their surface. He could practically hear the arteries of every human at the table solidifying around him.

“Jesus, Chen, he’s not a dog,” Miller groaned.

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it!”

“Pfft.” Gavin interrupted the burgeoning argument. “You really think I haven’t tried that shit? I offered him a grand to eat one of these once.” Reed held up a bunch of fries, and shoved them into his mouth. “Fuckin’ Nines wouldn’t do it.”

“You ever thought of asking him nicely?” Chen rolled her eyes.

“Nines’s a big boy. He doesn’t need me to pander, right?” Reed elbowed the android’s rib cage. His malicious trademark grin crept across his face. RK900 remained unphased, ignoring the human’s literal and figurative jabs.

“Dick,” Tina teased, throwing a few fries at Reed’s face. One fell into the opening of his v-neck tee, sliding down the man’s cleavage. RK900 watched the grease trail form in real time, along his partner’s skin, in excessive magnification.

“You don’t have to take this shit, y’know?”

The android snapped back to attention at the sound of Chen’s voice. Reed snorted, and took a huge bite of his burger. More food fell out of his mouth than entered, causing condiments and grease to dribble down his chin. A bright, red glob of ketchup caught RK900’s immediate attention, igniting an overpowering urge in his system.

“Perhaps,” RK900 suggested, body reacting contrary to his more rational mind, “my issue is with your overcompensatory attitude, and not the act of eating itself.” He reached out his hand, and slid his thumb next to the corner of Reed’s mouth, to collect the ketchup. Warm skin and scratchy stubble greeted him. RK900 quickly brought the digit to his mouth, and licked the condiment. Chemical equations lit up his mind, followed by a myriad of errors, none of which related to the act of ingestion.

Chen and Miller whooped in unison, a palpable relief in their voices. Their enthusiasm quickly died, with a sharp order from Fowler, and the table returned to idle conversation. Except Reed. He lapsed into a quiescent silence, practically vibrating despite his illegible expression. Reed slowly consumed his food, avoiding prolonged eye contact with everyone else at the table.

Reed’s friends seemed unburdened by the detective’s silence, content to allow Reed the luxury of scrolling through his phone. Chen and Miller turned their attention towards RK900, asking rapid fire questions about his hobbies and preferences. Favorite films, music, television—things Reed never bothered to ask RK900, and things RK900 never thought to ask Reed. Once or twice, the detective snorted at RK900’s answers, proving his mission of disinterest was only half-hearted.

Within half an hour, the humans finished their food, and began their slow shuffle towards the exit. Everyone filed out, eager to resume their duties. Everyone, but Reed, who lingered in the restaurant’s spillway for an extra minute, after all his colleagues had left.

A thought struck RK900 as he watched Reed touch the door handle, and he loosely grabbed the detective’s wrist. Electricity spread from the point of contact, throughout the rest of his body. It had lingered under his skin, since the ketchup, now swelling into a sledgehammer capable of puncturing his emotional dam.

“Reed.”

The human paused, and gently tugged his arm from RK900’s grip. He didn’t meet the android’s eye.

“Yeah, toaster?” It lacked any sort of bite.

The android paused, mulling over his words. All felt too appropriate and too damning, so he revised his approach.

“You should strive to be less messy. It’s embarrassing for an adult man to spill his lunch everywhere.” Far from what RK900 needed or wanted to say, his true feelings were so thoroughly foreign, he had no idea how to express them.

Reed barked out a laugh—vacillating between weary and relieved. “You’re really gonna say that shit to me, knowing we’re about to get sprayed down with hoses? The fuck I gotta be worried about, Nines?” Reed shook his head, and tore open the door, leaving RK900 to ruminate alone in the small restaurant.

Probabilities lit up the decision center of RK900’s mind. Stymied. Stunted. A hundred different reactions the android had little to no experience handling. Why was he second guessing his actions? Why did it matter if Reed was or wasn’t angry? More than that, if Reed _wasn’t_ angry, what did his reaction _mean_? All these incessant thoughts gummed RK900’s processors—a chorus of screaming voices.

Android hell was contending with feelings beyond one’s paradigm.

RK900 studied his thumb. He recreated the lackluster taste of the ketchup, its texture and flavor profile. The android took it a step further, reliving that split second where he pressed into the skin of Reed’s face. He ran the numbers on the possibility of Reed avoiding him, and RK900 being able to reroute his emotions.

A dismal return.

_I wasn’t made for this kind of torture_. RK900 frowned. Sighing, he exited the building.

—

“Fuckin’ why?”

A behemoth of a pickup truck pulled in front of Detective Reed, its massive wheels plated in chrome. Reed shot RK900 a look, as if the android were personally responsible for summoning the oversized vehicle to their doorsteps. Its metallic black paint glittered, and Reed kicked a sponge at his feet.

“Is there an issue, Reed?” RK900 asked his partner.

He stared at the detective, hadn’t stopped staring since they left the restaurant. The atmosphere between the two men drastically shifted in the wake of their lunch break. RK900 couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but he recognized much of Reed’s hostility had evaporated. He’d even made a point of insisting the two of them tackle the truck together, and RK900 didn’t see reason to argue.

The truck’s owner gravitated towards Fowler and Collins—a known associate of one or both of the men. They shared “dad jokes” back and forth, and RK900 swallowed the urge to scream.

“Like hell. I’ve washed plenty of these big-ass trucks in my day, toaster.” Reed shrugged. “Toss me that hose. Gonna show you how to do this right.”

RK900 did as he was instructed, to the letter. He hurled the hose at Reed, who fumbled to catch it. The human cursed, and water sprayed everywhere, drenching the front of Reed’s shirt. He muttered something under his breath about boxers or the lack thereof, and angrily ran his hands down his torso. RK900 shook his head, certain he was witnessing a lewd meltdown.

The android walked towards the other team, grabbing one of their soap buckets, and mentally fortifying himself for Reed in a wet t-shirt.

_That was the point, wasn’t it?_

Was it? RK900 couldn’t account for the root of these more instinctual accidents. He threw the hose, to spite Reed’s condescension, knowing the outcome would only add to the obscenity of his partner’s outfit. In fact, he considered a number of solutions, where he either retained the hose, or tossed it to the detective’s feet. All were disregarded, in favor of a single impulsive pink thread, winding its way through him.

Connor shot RK900 a thumbs up, which only added to the younger android’s frustration. RK900 sneered, and returned to the truck.

“Took your sweet time, didn’t you, Nines? Jesus Christ.” Reed leaned against the side of the truck, arms crossed, and dwarfed by the hulking wall of obsidian metal. He contrasted against it, pale shirt, clinging to his every line and curve, looking like a model for a car advertisement. His three day old stubble and messy hair only added to the predicament.

The hose certainly did a magnificent job of thoroughly soaking the detective’s clothes, leaving almost nothing to the imagination. Wet fabric clung to top of Reed’s wide pecs, alternating between draping and holding fast to each individual plane of his torso. The thin fabric hid enough to hint at Reed’s body, without giving it away, wholesale.

_I [should/should not] objectify my partner._

The red query burned a hole in the digital fabric of RK900’s mind, somewhere between a command and a mantra—an ethical conundrum. His eyes followed the swathes of translucent cloth, as they shifted with each of Reed’s micro movements. The harder RK900 cogitated, the more he realized he was never devised to comply with morals or ethics. To ease the burden on his psyche, it was best to simply admit the clear attraction between him and Reed—to himself, and _no one_ else.

“Your impatience is a burden, detective.” RK900 thoroughly soaked a sponge with soapy water. He approached Reed, standing less than a foot from the unruly human, and carefully placed the sponge in the center of Reed’s crossed arms. “I _apologize_ for interrupting your ineffective attempt at demonstrating your superior cleaning skills.”

Reed bumped the sponge into the air, and caught it, a haughty grin plastered to his face. He pivoted, and pulled himself onto the hood of the truck. The owner neither noticed, nor seemed to care about the grown man crawling on top of his vehicle. Truthfully, RK900 couldn’t disagree with Reed’s method. Even at six foot two, the android would have had trouble reaching certain parts of the truck without treating it like a jungle gym.

RK900 took hold of the hose, and set about spraying the chromed steel of the tires. He crouched, watching blackened bubbles congregate in the center of the star shaped spokes. Something soft splattered against the top of his head, and gravity carried the sponge onto a puddle next to his feet.

RK900 narrowed his eyes.

“Sponge me, Nines!”

“Politeness goes a long way, Reed.”

“What crawled up your ass today?”

“You!” the android snapped. He stood, in a flash, nearly slamming into the detective’s head on the way up. He hadn’t realized Reed was laying out across the hood of the truck. Reed smiled, pink tongue licking at the mean smile on his lips.

“You said it, not me, bud,” Reed chuckled, snatching a newly dipped sponge from RK900’s hand. He slowly rolled over, lingering on his back for a solid minute, one arm draped over his forehead, boasting the full length of his water drenched body—an unmistakable, calculated action.

RK900 dumped a bunch of rags on Reed, and hauled a soap bucket to the far end of the truck, trying not to dwell on the perfectly recreated memory of what he’d just seen. He perched on the side of the pickup truck bed, and started scrubbing the back window. He peered through it, and a burst of heat struck his cheeks.

Reed, in his infinite wisdom, attempted to scrub the roof of the truck. With every stroke of his hand, he pressed tighter and tighter against the soapy windshield. His ample chest slid along the sudsy glass, pecs squishing and squeezing and sliding and scraping.

The android no longer bothered denying himself. He simply dropped his sponge onto the truck bed and watched, hand cradling his cheek, as Reed’s entire torso danced against the wide open glass. He didn’t bother preconstructing a damn thing—the wet shirt left nothing to the imagination, and, boy was RK900’s imagination running wild.

He lacked the wherewithal to stop the flood of obscene thoughts funneling straight through the center of his mind. The sensation of him shoving Reed against the glass, as he pressed along the detective’s spine. His hands gliding under a shirt, touch saturated in the contrast of wet water against warm skin. Such thoughts often plagued him, but he normally shut them down, in service of professionalism.

Today, Reed made it clear he intended to put on a show, and RK900 felt it his duty to enjoy it. He held no misconceptions as to _exactly_ what this was. Instantly, the day ceased being a semi-mandatory excuse for everyone to laze around and gossip, and evolved into Reed launching a personal call out against RK900.

Reed’s dusty pink nipples slid up and down, gliding through the soapy medium. Upon closer inspection— _magnification—_ RK900 detected the presence of two metal bulbs sandwiching each nub. He took a deep breath, and pierced the inside of his cheek, with a sharp, military grade canine.

Tart Thirium dribbled along his tongue, mixing with the heat of nanites on the rush to repair a superficial injury. He could strangle Reed— _would_ strangle the cheeky human. Lust wound its velvety magenta tendrils along his carbon fiber spine, cinching each vertebrae inch by inch.

[Connor,] RK900 projected in desperation. The thought of reaching out to his predecessor mutilated his pride, but RK900 didn’t know what else to do. [We _need_ to switch places. My partner is purposefully re-enacting a pornographic film.]

[No.] The electric blue word stung RK900, like a vicious wasp. [He’s _flirting_ with you, brother. He’s trying to get your attention. Human males often show off to attract mates.] The sheer smugness in Connor’s response made RK900 want to drive the pickup truck into his predecessor.

[You offer no value, Connor.]

[I love you too, brother.]

RK900 ground out a sigh, snatched his sponge, and set to work scrubbing the truck bed. He went out of his way to ignore Reed’s provocations, but couldn’t help stealing a look every so often. He completed his task in record time, uncomfortable in the way wet denim clung to the lower half of his body.

“Nice shirt, Terminator,” Reed sneered, on approach to RK900. He lightly slapped the now soaked image of _Scruff McGruff: The Crime Dog_ with the back of his fingers. “Fuckin’ suits you.”

“Care to explain your rationale, detective?” RK900 glanced at the point of contact, noting the state of his shirt wasn’t too dissimilar to Reed’s. The worn fabric did little to hide the blinding white of his skin.

“Nope,” Reed popped the ‘p.’ He brushed a hand along RK900’s shirt, smoothing it in a series of loud squelches. Instead of twisting Reed’s wrist, the android fixated on the sensation of a warm hand bleeding through the cool, damp fabric in small bursts. He also noted the now obvious barbells protruding from Reed’s nipples—a muted gray amidst translucent white.

Weak sunlight finally broke through the overture of rolling clouds, illuminating the otherwise dreary parking lot with some much needed cheer. RK900 closed his eyes, soothed by the warm rays drying the water on his nanite skin and hair. He ran a hand through his loose curls, sending a few drops flying.

When RK900 opened them, Gavin had stepped away, as if the entire interaction were little more than a fever dream. And maybe it was, if RK900 was being honest. Maybe it should stay that way.

“Yo, Gav!” Chen ran to meet Reed, but paused abruptly. “Wait, shit! Are those new?”

RK900 drifted away from the two humans, seeking solace in the afternoon sun. He flipped an empty bucket, and sat down, lost to his own meditations. He had a lot to think about, now—considerations of intrusive thoughts he’d been trying to write off for months.

“These? Nah, they’re old as hell. Just forgot to take ‘em out last night.”

The android’s ears perked at his partner’s voice. Even as he tried to rebuild the remnants of his barrier, Reed trounced on his efforts.

_I can’t blame Reed_ , he realized. _This is a hell of my own creation._

RK900 clasped his hands together, blue eyes focused on a puddle five feet away, one offering a rippled reflection of Reed and his colleague.

“Hmmm,” Chen exaggerated, tapping her chin. “And you were doing what—or _who_ —last night?”

Reed bit his lip, much of his cocky energy drained in an instant. Obvious, even from the pitiful recreation RK900 watched, like a burgeoning soap opera on nature’s version of a CRT television.

“My fuckin’ hand, Teen, who d’you think?” Reed shuffled, glaring at the late afternoon sun, as if it were capable or willing to swallow him whole. “And a little help from our friend, Jack.” RK900 checked his files—an attempted joke, referencing the detective’s preferred liquor brand. A slow heat simmering under the android’s collar petered out, the red circle at his temple resuming its solid blue.

“God, you need to get laid, Reed. This is pathetic,” Chen rolled her eyes. Sympathy lingered in her stance, her tone, the muffled sadness in her dark eyes. “Scratch that—you need a _boyfriend_ , Gav. One that’ll remind you not to wear your piercings to the precinct car wash, yeah?” She playfully punched Reed square in his chest.

“Fuck off, Chen.” Gavin knocked her hand away, without force or bluster. “Ain’t my fault no one can handle _this_ .” He motioned to his torso, fabric still draping along his muscles like the sculptures RK900 had seen in museums and digital tours of ruins. He hated the comparison, hated giving Reed the satisfaction of the comparison, as if the human were some kind of demigod _[He isn’t]_ worth lusting after _[Grey area detected]_.

Chen doubled over. Her mirthful laughter carried across the cracked asphalt of the strip mall, intertwining with the golden rays of the sun. She slapped Reed on his shoulder, his green eyes harboring a violent storm.

“Fowler’s so, so wrong, Gav. You’re hilarious, man.”

RK900’s puddle vision refracted into a million shapes and colors, rippling out from a single, white tennis shoe. The android followed the shoe, all the way to the chocolate brown eyes of its owner. Connor shifted his weight, arms crossed, face placid—a trick he’d learned or copied from RK900. The older android often tried to hide his emotions around RK900 to little avail. The act of replicating was, in and of itself, a psychological expression.

“I see you’re enjoying the show, brother.” Connor couldn’t fight his soft smirk. It contrasted with the hopefulness in his eyes—a true sadist. He loved watching RK900 suffer in these wholly unfamiliar situations—the personal kind, where he couldn’t hide behind the facade of interrogator or disaffected psychologist.

The younger android stood, recognizing Connor had tried to take the literal high ground. “Why have you made it your goal in life to publicly humiliate me, Connor?” The words were delivered like a predator, full of teeth and poison. Also, loud—too loud. Loud enough for anyone within a twelve foot radius to hear his accusation and dwindling confidence wrapped into one nice, neat package.

“Hey, Nines,” Reed’s gruff voice scraped down RK900’s carbon fiber spine, hitting every node on the way down. “You do an A-plus job of that yourself!” The android snapped his head, glaring at his partner.

A strong hand enclosed around his wrist. “Brother,” Connor warned, voice low, promising reprimand, “do _not_ take his bait. Do _not_ turn this into something you’ll regret.” RK900 didn’t spare his predecessor another glance, and ripped away his arm.

[Your opinion is duly noted.] He projected the words with all the venom and ferocity of liquid magma. RK900 caught sight of Connor wincing behind him, his fingers rubbing soft circles into the red wheel on his temple.

RK900 stood before Reed, a mess of conflicting emotions. He detected a similar hesitancy in his partner—his stance, his expression, and his body language were all off kilter. He’d offered an invitation to dance, and RK900 was all too happy to accept.

“At the very least, I don’t constantly make myself the center of attention to fill an empty void in my psyche.” He stilled, forcing his hands to remain at his side. He wanted to take hold of Reed, and literally shake some sense into the man. Or, maybe feel that warm skin against his own, once more.

Chen shook her head, high ponytail bobbing in the wind. “Men,” she muttered under her breath, glaring from android to human, and back again.

Reed grabbed a handful of RK900’s borrowed shirt, squeezing the patronizing dog in his steel grip. Water dripped between his fingers, running down the toned muscle of his arm. RK900 wrapped his hand around the limb. Warm, damp skin greeted the millions upon millions of sensors along RK900’s fingertips. He felt the human’s racing pulse, thundering along his brachial artery. It felt intimate, more so than any other interaction over the last few hours.

“It’s cute when you try to talk about shit you don’t understand, Nines,” Reed growled. RK900 felt every consonant reverberate through the man’s chest and vocal chords, micron sized shockwaves that engulfed his entire body. “Don’t come at me with your cut-rate FBI profiler shit.” Reed released the android’s shirt, and placed his palm against RK900’s chest. It lingered, almost too long, before human shoved android.

RK900 remained glued to the ground. But he still felt the residual presence of Reed’s fingers against his chest, for a second time. Caresses to violence, in a matter of minutes—the swan song of a man protracted in emotional limbo.

The android released Reed’s wrist, and it lingered, hovering between the two men. It remained, far longer than necessary, like a tangible expression of something that needed to be said or done—something neither man had the capacity to express. Muted green locked onto ice chip blue, compressing sentiment into a singular beam, before it shattered into molecular oblivion.

Without another word, Reed stomped back to his car. He threw open the door, and started to slide inside.

“The hell do you think you’re going, Reed? We’re not done here!” Fowler called to his subordinate.

“I’ve got a dead uncle or something that just came up,” the detective huffed, rapidly and without direction. “I’m out. Have fun.”

[RK900…]

[Do _not_ lecture me, Connor.]

RK900 immediately imposed a temporary block against his predecessor, set to expire in twenty-four hours. Whatever Connor wanted to say, he could expend the energy to do it in the same clumsy, humiliating way as a human.

A large arm snaked around the android’s shoulder. He glanced into the bright blue eyes of Hank Anderson. For once, the garish violets and golds of his shirt brought comfort, not pain.

The Camaro grumbled to life, engine roaring and sputtering with unnecessary amounts of excess horsepower. Sunlight caught at the perfect angle to highlight the car’s lovely curves—a favorable geometry it seemed to share with its owner. The car pulled onto the road, fading sun turning its backend into liquid metal. It sped off towards the glittering skyscrapers of the city.

“Don’t take it personally, kid. Reed’s a tough nut to crack,” Anderson commented. “Y’know, baggage within baggage. With a little space, he’ll be back on his bullshit soon enough.”

“Lieutenant Anderson— _Hank_ ,” RK900 said softly, “your words lead me to believe you think Reed and I exist in an extraprofessional capacity.”

Anderson ran a hand through his tidy, silver beard, grunting. “I mean,” he stammered. His short, silver ponytail gleamed in the sun. “I just think the two of you can learn from each other, you know? Your record on the field proves as much.” He shrugged, offered a weak smile, and sauntered off, to join Connor.

“Don’t worry,” Chen’s chipper voice cut in, “Gav’ll get over it. He always does—with you, I mean.”

Part of RK900 wanted to ask Chen the meaning behind her statement, but she’d already set off, after Anderson. RK900 sighed, and glanced at the circle of people, noting the lone android a few paces away from everyone.

Connor’s brown eyes hardened, focusing the entirety of their dark energy on RK900.

—

Soft purple tones spilled through the blinds of the RK’s shared apartment. RK900 stood in front of the window, watching the setting sun through tiny slivers of the outside world. Connor closed the door—hard enough to make a scene, but not to convey true anger. RK900 sensed his predecessor’s eyes boring into the back of his head.

“RK900, you need to go to Gavin’s home tomorrow and apologize.” Connor stood still as a statue, replicating the air of a threatening gargoyle.

“I see…,” RK900 spun on his heel, and met Connor’s glare with one of equivalent malice. “And what would I be apologizing for? Standing my ground?”

RK900 dared Connor to start, to throw the first punch, anything. But Connor never did and never would—the feature that set him apart from his successor model. The singular aspect of their personalities that would forever gnaw at RK900, even as he pushed it aside.

Connor broke eye contact, and ran a hand through his short curls with a sigh. He sunk onto their couch, placing his elbows on his knees. “You infuriate me brother—abstruse to the point of absurdity.” The older android glanced at the endless black of their television screen, and added, “you possess tremendous skill at sussing out human motive, but you’re purposefully limited yourself when it comes to Detective Reed.”

“You’re _not_ my superior, _RK800_ ,” RK900 growled. He slid in front of Connor, and planted himself on their shared coffee table. Connor met RK900’s eyes, even as a worn weariness overtook him.

“Little brother.” There it was, the condescending tone—an exploitation of the “family” dynamic. “Something you and Reed _both_ need to learn is not everything in life is a competition.” Connor opened his hands. “Some things require _cooperation_.”

“Stop wasting my time, and make your point,” RK900 snapped.

Connor reached out a hand, now devoid of its nanite layer, and cupped RK900’s cheek. He didn’t attempt to interface with the younger android, but he did pass along superficial data packages—emotional textures to contextualize his words.

“I refuse to standby and watch you sabotage yourself because you’re afraid of readily admitting what’s in front of you.” Connor smiled, soft and courteous. RK900 blinked, eyes narrowing slightly.

“And what is that, Connor?”

“You have feelings for Detective Reed—you have for months,” Connor said, eyes wide and genuine.

RK900 deflated, shoulders slumping forward for only a moment, before he straightened his back once more. All the thoughts and feelings he’d taken so many steps to lock away rushed to the forefront, flooding every nerve and circuit of his body. A simultaneous expulsion of anxiety and relief, while the android’s chest twisted into confused knots.

Connor was right, of course. Connor was always right, which is why RK900 hated him. He could hide from anyone, but the keen eye of his adoptive _brother_.

“You always insist on playing the bigger man, until a situation where it’s needed the most,” Connor pushed. “I would wager he shares your sentiments, based on the way he constantly showboats around you. You just have to confront him, as he’s unlikely to initiate.”

RK900 stared into his brother’s eyes, unsure how to process. Part of him felt relieved someone understood, even if it was _Connor_. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, after all.

“Is this your professional opinion, as someone who investigates for a living?” RK900 asked, pushing a curl out of his eye.

“I’m of the opinion the precinct would be a much more peaceful environment if the two of you discussed your feelings.” Connor chirped. RK900 placed his hand on top of his _brother’s_. While still unwilling to initiate a proper interface, the action conveyed his feelings on the matter.

As much as RK900 hated to admit it, Connor had a point, and a viable solution.

The two androids remained seated across from one another, hand in hand, well into the night. Time functioned differently for digital creatures—less a prison than suggestion. For the first time in his brief existence, RK900 felt like he had a brother instead of a nagging babysitter. And maybe Connor had always been _that_ , but RK900, as with most of his interpersonal relationships, attempted to construe it as something else.

Regardless, RK900 resolved to visit Gavin Reed tomorrow. Not with an apology, but a proposition.

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Realism can kiss my ass—this camaro’s un-dentable

**_Summer 2035:_ **

Gavin’s old neighborhood unraveled before his eyes—new houses, empty lots, and the tiny park next door with its rusted slide. Post-graduation, he never thought much about his childhood home or its inevitable evolution. He’d always been looking forward, but his thirties brought with them an existential reckoning. So, here he stood, drinking shitty beer with his dad, in an environment both familiar and uncanny.

“I wanna take a look at a car, dad,” Gavin said. He fidgeted, tapping a near empty beer can on the rail of the back porch. He’d been thinking about the proposition for a while, hoping it’d be enough to scratch the untenable itch keeping him awake at night.

“A car, huh?” Garrett asked, “what kind of car? I got you pegged for one of those speedy imports, just this side of street legal. Tell me I’m wrong.”

“You are,” Gavin dismissed. He paused, then spoke again, “it’s a Camaro, actually. One of the old models—pre-the bougie shit your factory spits out these days.”

Garrett turned to his son, eyes wide with surprise.

“Camaro’s a nice choice,” Garrett conceded, slapping his son’s back. “Not one I saw coming, but, as a dad, you accept that your kids’ll never stop surprising you.”

“You really thought I was gonna run around town in...in what? A goddamn Mercedes? A Toyota Supra?” Gavin scoffed, and threw back the last few drops of warm beer. “Jesus, dad, we live in Detroit—I gotta rep the hometown.”

“Come off it, Gav, you don’t owe Detroit shit. This hellhole’s a fixed point on a line that you ain’t gotta be a part of.” Garrett’s smile waned.

“If you say so, old man.” Gavin frowned, crushing his can. He tossed it to the corner of the porch, and toyed with the leftover beers floating in the cooler’s warm water, refusing to turn and look at his father.

“I do say so,” Garrett said softly. A hand came to rest on Gavin’s shoulder, and gently turned him around.

“Look...I just,” Gavin fumbled, “come appraise this thing with me. It’ll be one of those father-son bonding trips you’re always screamin’ about.”

Garrett studied his son, a hardened look in his grey-green eyes. He adjusted the Red Wings cap on his head, and popped the tab on a new beer.

“If you’re sure, Gav,” Garrett said, “you know I’d love to tag along.”

“Yeah, why not?” Gavin shrugged, plopping into his father’s sagging lawn chair. “S’half the fun, right? Maybe it’ll be what I need to pull the trigger.”

Garrett hummed, a deft smile on his lips. He didn’t press Gavin for details, likely knowing his son would supply them when ready. The sun waned on the horizon, painting the polluted sky every shade of violet. CyberLife Tower loomed in the distance, marring the picturesque view.

**_Summer 2039:_ **

“It’s the radiator again, isn’t it? I swear to god it’s always the fuckin’ radiator!” Gavin shouted into the Camaro’s guts. They remained silent, inert rods and hoses unperturbed by complaint.

“ _Just gotta talk to the car,_ my ass.” Gavin slammed his fist against the smooth steel motor, but pulled back at the first spark of pain. He shook out his hand. The Camaro said nothing, her secret withheld. 

Gavin’s father preached the need to listen to machines, that doing so would reveal their problems. But Gavin never bought that crock. He wasn’t some savant mechanic who’d spent his childhood in the Michigan boonies rebuilding engines for fun— _that_ gene skipped a kid.

“You’re a bitch, you know that?” Gavin told his car. He lit a cigarette and took a puff, staring at the gnarled dogwood branches intertwining above his head. “Been a cold, hard bitch since the day I rescued you from that doomsday wack job.”

Four years ago, Gavin bought the car on a whim. He’d enlisted his father on a short road trip to the outskirts of Toledo. They—meaning Garrett—haggled with an old conspiracy theorist, until the lunatic divined they were neither interdimensional lizards nor trying to rip him off. The car barely made it through the repurposed bunker’s gates before its underbelly collapsed, long rusted joints disintegrating with the effort of being pulled by an F-250.

Gavin could still taste the dust on his lips as he stood alongside the old Camaro’s hole riddled chassis. Could still hear his father’s words with perfect clarity. _No biggie, Gav. You and me got this. One Reed’s good—two’re unstoppable. It’ll do you some good to work with your old man. Maybe you’ll learn a thing or two._

“Girl,” Gavin chastised, “you’re not impressing anyone with those curves if you can’t hit seventy without overheating.” He slammed shut the Camaro’s hood and tapped his fingers against her sleek body. Tendrils of smoke danced in the heavy morning air. Gavin watched them, lost to his own thoughts.

A lot could happen in six months.

“Guess I really am turning into my old man,” Gavin said, “talking to cars like they can understand me and shit.”

He flicked the butt of his cigarette into a steel pail near the door of his garage.

His mother understood space and volume; his father, machines; his brothers, math and computers, respectively. Gavin crouched, ruffling the hair at the back of his head, wondering where it all left him in the grand scheme of things.

_I solve puzzles, right?_ He had an uncanny knack for piecing together solutions from the smallest of details, not unlike the goddamn robot twins’ magic software. An incredible skill he couldn’t seem to turn inward. _Is it that you can’t, or that you won’t?_

Gavin traced his car’s grill, pausing at its angry headlights. Steel blue flashed behind his eyes—pissy and condescending. His partner, unlike the Camaro, _did_ have a penchant for talking back.

One lot over, a dog barked. Gavin rounded the curve of his driveway, and looked the mutt square in his black eyes. _Beware of Dog_ rattled in the wind, bright red paint crumbling under erosive oxidation. The dog boffed in expectation, but Gavin held up empty palms.

“Payday’s next week. Your fat ass’ll have to wait.”

Another, pushier boff.

“Bleedin’ me dry, here, buddy.” Gavin clapped his hands and turned away from the needy dog, who offered a disappointed whine.

Gavin often considered adopting a pet. When he let his imagination run wild, he’d mix a boyfriend into the fantasy—some six foot monster of a guy who looked wildly out of place holding a small animal. Over time, the mystery man developed a face and a body, features growing more and more specific with each passing week. Blue eyes, black hair, pale skin—borderline photophobic, like a vampire. The thoughts tormented Gavin, swirled around his head every night on the cusp of sleep.

Even after achieving the arbitrary milestones of adulthood—house, car, six-pack abs—Gavin still couldn’t shake the latent emptiness of it all. He’d grown so accustomed to late night dances in abandoned warehouses that the inevitable progression of everyone’s lives, his own included, caught him off guard. He needed more—he needed a partner, but _that_ was a tall order.

“God damn, am I really gonna have to get a shrink?” He asked the sky. It’s oblique stripes of pink and orange offered no answers, just the cresting heat of the sun.

The Camaro vibrated.

“Here we go again.” Gavin sighed and reached for his phone, clicking on the screen. A single heart emoji floated over the nameless weightlifter that comprised his home screen. _From: Dad._ He entered the chat log and sifted through the endless scroll of one-sided messages—words of encouragement, all left on read. Today added a new twist to the Sunday morning formula:

Dad _: [...]_

Dad _: do ur old man a favor and drop by sometime_

Dad _: wanna get drunk n bitch about movies but I need u in my corner_

Dad _: Dave Summers cant out yell us all_

Garrett had the patience of a saint, and Gavin hated him for it.

The screen clicked off, absolving Gavin of the need to respond. Guilt would linger, but months had dulled it to a bitter ache. He tossed the phone onto the workbench in his garage. Gone, but far from forgotten.

Across the room, his old Crown Victoria languished. Trashy, but stalwart. Miraculously, it still ran. A matter of spite, Gavin reckoned, and aftermarket police upgrades. The precinct refused him a car, so he bought a shitty substitute. As with everything else in his life, he compartmentalized his vehicles, a tidy delineation between work Gavin and real Gavin.

“Gonna push this junker into a quarry,” he muttered, “then head out west.” Gavin kicked the side of the Crown Victoria.

He wanted a proper midlife crisis, a Vegas adventure. _I’ll get me a nice office in a casino, become a PI, and help rich chicks prove their trophy husbands are cheating scumbags._ Gavin laughed out loud at the absurdity of it. Then again, it beat the hell out of watching robots lick dead bodies.

_Right?_

Gavin shuddered and grabbed his roller dolly.

—

Sounds percolated, the neighborhood bursting to life with the day’s herald. Trampoline coils creaked, radios belted mixtapes, and subwoofers shook the air. Gavin tinkered with the oil pan of his Camaro, hiding in the comfortable shade of the vehicle’s underbelly.

He dislodged the metal plate, but it tumbled from his fingers, falling onto his chest. Above Gavin, a metal matrix of tubes coiled, and he stared at it, defeated. Pink oil oozed into the space between his pecs, but he didn’t bother wiping it away.

“You need to man the fuck up and call him,” Gavin told the drip. “He could do this in his sleep.”

Neither the drip nor the Camaro offered any reassurance. Gavin had dug this hole himself.

Brakes screeched to a halt, joined by the scuffle of shoes on concrete. In an ideal world, the neighborhood had made its mass exodus to wherever Sunday morning took it, but the local kids had a penchant for playing Four Square in Gavin’s driveway when they thought he wasn’t paying attention.

Gavin slid out from beneath the car, prepared to shoo away preteens, but halted at a pair of steel blue eyes. RK900, the perpetual thorn in Gavin’s side, sat crouched in a ball at the head of his car. The robot’s dead gaze dissected Gavin piece by piece, scrutinizing him under the lens of an ion microscope.

“Good morning, Reed.” His voice held all the goofy embellishments of Connor, but leveraged as a threat.

“Leather pants? In this heat?” Gavin blurted, “are you insane?”

A yellow blip.

“No,” RK900 replied, “simply an android.”

Gavin stared at the robot, recognizing, as he had many times before, RK900 existed solely to torment him. Five of five RK900s had been offered tenure at the big government acronyms; four of five accepted. It begged the question as to why _this_ one spurned the offer. Gavin had theories. But he relegated those thoughts to dregs of his consciousness—trash to be collected in the dump truck of his psyche.

“So...you some kinda stalker, then?” Gavin asked, scrambling to his feet. “That what it says in your instruction manual? _Stalker who creeps on his coworkers?”_

RK900’s mood ring danced, but his face remained unchanged. _Red. Yellow. Blue. Yellow._ His eyes followed the movement of the rag Gavin ripped from his waistband, tracing muscles laid bare.

“CyberLife intended for me to be the best stalker money could buy.” RK900 stood, eclipsing Gavin at his full height. “I’ve since been reduced to a glorified babysitter.”

“Just so we’re clear: It’s fuckin’ creepy of you to show up at my house,” Gavin snapped.

He couldn’t look away from RK900’s hair. Tamed, as always, without a single strand out of place, save for the tuft on his forehead. Yesterday’s curls had been banished, leaving Gavin with a sense of disappointment.

“Anyways, I got shit to do,” Gavin said. He rushed past RK900, clipping the android’s shoulder on his way into the garage. It hurt, like hitting a steel beam. He grabbed the cream colored crop top on his workbench, and hastily pulled it over his head. It hung off his shoulder, collar torn wide.

“Do you wish for me to leave, Reed?” RK900 asked, words burning Gavin’s back like flecks of dry ice.

Gavin exhaled, gritting his teeth. Behind him a ghost loomed, dark energy manifesting as it so often did when the two men were left alone. An impossible presence, as dense as it was volatile.

“Reed?” RK900 probed, with all the social acumen of a goddamned bridge troll, “it’s customary to answer when questioned.”

“There a reason you made a fuckin’ house call instead of texting?” Gavin spun to face the android, waving his cell phone in the air. “You know, like a normal person.”

“Your messages read like hieroglyphics, and I’ve better ways to spend my time than trying to interpret your ramblings,” RK900 said, “I prefer direct communication, but, as humans lack the means for network projection, I had to... _settle.”_

“Yeah, sorry I ain’t got a computer in my fuckin’ head.” Gavin narrowed his olive eyes. “But maybe, just maybe, you got better things to do on your Sunday than harass the local wildlife.”

“That doesn’t answer my question, Reed,” RK900 said, “am I to stay or go? I‘m giving you a choice.”

The liminal buzz of anxiety gnawed at Gavin’s stomach. He didn’t miss the way RK900 stared at him, through him, _into_ him. Garrett never warned Gavin about the way machines read people, nor the stories hidden in the silent space between their words.

RK900’s LED strobed colors in rapid succession, indicating he’d engaged his psychic mathematician routine. Yet, his expression remained flat, lacking any hint of the subversion Gavin craved. He knew it lurked in the depths of the android’s mind, separate from all the carbon fiber and plasteel composite. 

_I know they look weird, but they’re just arms—like what you and me got._ Ten year old Gavin stared at a gutted factory armature, a halo of power tools and repair panels scattered about the cement floor. _Us, but, you know, different._

The sad robot sat atop an old milk crate, frowning, cheek held in the palm of his hand. He bickered with his “brother” over everything and nothing, while wet curls dripped onto his tattered t-shirt—both an echo and a novelty.

Like Gavin, but also nothing like Gavin.

“My choice, huh?” Gavin scoffed, looking RK900 in the eye. “We both know you’ll ignore whatever I say, so, I don’t give a shit what you do, Nines.”

Gavin blinked, and the android stood alongside him—tall, domineering, and handsome. Perfect, but _too_ perfect; cut from the cloth of a thousand focus tests, and then pushed a step further. His flawlessness an imperfection unto itself—preternatural and uncanny.

Gavin inhaled.

“Reed.”

“Yup.” Gavin popped the _p_. “That’s my name.”

“Humor me,” RK900 said, “do you find decision making especially taxing?”

“You boys come pre-installed with sarcasm?” Gavin asked, “or did you learn it all by yourself?”

“As a machine,” RK900 said, ignoring Gavin’s quip, “I can sympathize with your struggles. Binary inquiries can be deceptively complex. When all possible outcomes are essentialized into a ‘yes’ or a ‘no,’ each carries a heavy burden, does it not?”

“Do you get off on these fucking mind games, or what?”

Gavin slammed a hand against his pinewood workbench. A toolbox perched between the two men shook free, clattering to the floor in a concert of metal meeting concrete. RK900 plucked a large, red wrench from the pile.

“You believe my attempts to befriend you stem from a place of malice?” The android quirked an eyebrow, and lightly slapped the tool against his palm. “To what end? If not camaraderie, what do I gain from seeking you outside the parameters of our working relationship?”

“I dunno, Nines,” Gavin said, “but nothing comes outta your mouth without sixty layers of bullshit.”

“You honestly believe that?” The wrench stopped its rhythmic pat, coming to rest on a bed of slender fingers.

“I’ve dealt with two faced fucks my whole life,” Gavin said, “you really think your schtick is any different?” The fingers probed rough edges of flecked paint and misshapen metal, curling tightly and adding marks of their own.

“That’s your problem, Reed,” RK900 sighed. “That’s always been your problem.” He let it hang in the air, ripe with intent but lacking clarification. To question further would open a door that couldn’t easily be closed—RK900’s plan, no doubt.

“Mine?” Gavin asked, “or yours?”

The wrench clattered to the floor, steel thinned in five places—held together or ready to snap, depending on the point of view.

“You and I are doomed to chase one another in this endless circle, aren’t we?” RK900 asked.

“You’re reading into shit that isn’t there, Nines.” Gavin responded, almost too quickly. “You need to take a chill pill, bud.”

The android crowded Gavin, forcing him against the back wall of the garage, looming, his eyes like a butane flame. Gavin felt small, cornered by a plasticine demi-god, with nowhere to run. Traitorous warmth curdled at the base of his spine, welcoming RK900.

“Reed.” Voice like a sliver of glass. “Your behavior never fails to perplex me. You say one thing, then turn around and do another.” A lightshow returned to RK900’s temple, the only consistent source of outward emotion on the robot. Or, at least, the one Gavin had learned to read.

_Pink lips wrapping around a dollop of ketchup. RK900 sitting at his desk, still and lifeless; blue eyes empty. The idiosyncrasies of a confused creature trapped in his own skin._

“And you don’t?” Gavin asked, puffing out his chest.

“Misinterpreting what you don’t understand isn’t a sign of deception on my part,” RK900 said. “It’s a matter of you seeing what you want to see, and refusing to consider the alternative.”

“Which is?”

RK900 pursed his lips, but provided no answer.

“What do you want, Reed?” RK900 asked.

“What do _I_ want?” Gavin mocked. It lacked the necessary venom, falling flat on delivery. Exacerbated, when he couldn’t spit out the five follow up words to drive the sentiment home. Words tended to fail Gavin when he needed them most. The truth too hard to conjure.

Actions were easier and spoke louder. 

Gavin placed his hands on RK900’s shoulders and pushed, black cashmere engulfing his fingers. RK900 remained rooted to the floor, his little ring bright crimson—a staunch blockade, as stubborn as Gavin.

“Why can’t you accompany your actions with words?” RK900 asked. “What are you so afraid of?”

Gavin pressed harder, fingers digging into artificial muscle. The words eluded him, even as indications were clear RK900 sought a definitive answer. Gavin could no longer hide behind false sentiment, wasn’t coy enough to express fake rejection. He feared RK900 would take his words at face value, and _truly_ leave him alone.

_Loneliness is an affliction, Gav, not a way of life._ Sadness etched lines into Garrett’s face, aging the man well beyond his sixty-three years. _If that’s what you want, I’m not gonna breathe down your neck like some kinda middle manager, but eventually you need to realize not everyone’s out to get you._

“I want…,” Gavin trailed off.

His grip slackened. A splash of cyan caught his eye, situated just below the robot’s heart and bleeding through the expensive fabric. Without thinking, Gavin placed his hand against the circle, still vibrant despite the dark sweater. One beat, then two. A pulse thudded under his fingers.

_I want the benefits, with none of the baggage_ . Gavin clenched his fist, cashmere extruding between his fingers. _I want…_ He exhaled, lost to a host of blue—eyes, temple, and heart.

“Wanna rip this stupid thing out of your chest,” Gavin said, “then you’ll finally stop tormenting me.”

Muscle tensed under Gavin’s finger—tiny, microscopic movements he wouldn’t notice were he not touching the android. But RK900 did nothing. Sweat coursed down Gavin’s spine as he awaited a response—a verdict, an outburst, anything.

“What then?” RK900 asked, voice quiet, “what would you do with my heart in your hands?”

“Jesus!” Gavin exclaimed, “that’s not what I…!”

Black blurred as RK900 snapped into action, snatching Gavin’s wrist. Pressure built, uncomfortable but far from dangerous. The android could crush Gavin’s bones or shatter his arm into a million pieces, but he didn’t. RK900 simply held Gavin’s hand in place.

“If not that, then what?” RK900 asked, “you wish to harm me? Hurt me? Overheat my body past the point of no return, until my AI core is forced to disconnect and await placement into a new host? You would undertake so many steps, when all you _have_ to say is, ‘leave?’”

Gavin gulped, nerves tingling at his fingertips. He felt the throb of the android’s heart, the frantic pace of an inhuman pulse. It echoed his own, then didn’t.

“No, Reed,” RK900 said, grip tightening, forcing Gavin to press harder against his chest. “I don’t think you wish to watch me bleed out and twitch. You’re not a sadistic man—just a coward.”

“You’re so full of shit it’s coming out your ears!“ Gavin yelled, an incoherent mess. 

He shoved the heel of his palm against the center of the blue circle. The spot was hard, lacking the give of muscle and fragility of bone. An outwardly mechanical moment on a creature that defined himself through emulation of flesh and blood.

The android offered a dark smile. Unbidden, he slipped his free hand under the ribbed trim of his sweater, and dragged it up, past his collar. The cashmere slid under Gavin’s fingertips like water. Skin touched skin, barrier free. It felt real, _human._

Gavin took in the sight—the soft swell of defined pectorals, the ridges of pronounced abs, and the sharp _v_ of hips leading into leather pants too tight to be legal. RK900’s chest felt feverishly warm. Gavin wanted to know the purpose of expending resources on a body like this, why CyberLife went to such lengths to make androids resemble Greek statues. Maybe the answer resided in his own erratic heartbeat and southbound rush of blood.

Gavin’s brain misfired and he squeezed RK900’s pec. No thoughts or internal battles, just his hand closing around the android’s chest. It had all the lazy resilience of human muscle—fleshy but firm.

“The regulator is quite fragile, even on a government model such as myself,” RK900 said, a faint teal dusting his cheeks, “I think corporate wanted a failsafe—the comfort of knowing an RK900 _could_ be bested.”

“Y-You know I’ll do it,” Gavin said, voice trembling, “even if the numbers in your head say I’m too chickenshit to go through with it.”

“I don’t doubt you will, Reed,” RK900 said, releasing Gavin’s wrist from his iron grip. “I’d go so far as to say I’m counting on it.”

Glowering, Gavin stared at the regulator, knocked on it with his knuckle. It thudded, the hard plasteel composite at odds with the rest of the android’s torso. Gavin prodded the blue circle, tracing its perfect curve with the pad of his thumb.

RK900 shuddered.

_Blue. Blue. Blue._ RK900’s LED shone blue, like his eyes, like the corporate glyphs inscribed on the outside of the regulator’s casing. If Gavin didn’t know any better, he’d think the android was getting off on the whole thing. He couldn’t bring himself to look down and check.

“You gonna snap my neck?” Gavin asked.

Gavin experimentally shoved a fingernail between the slim separation of blue light and torso. RK900’s chest expanded—a single, deep breath. Rare for the machine. His pupils dilated, edging out the blue of his iris. Featherlight fingers closed around Gavin’s throat—a promise of things to come. Gavin bit the inside of his cheek until the tang of copper reached his tongue.

“Gonna take that as a _yes_.” Gavin gave a dark chuckle.

“Do you seek permission?” RK900 asked. He traced Gavin’s carotid artery with his thumb. “I’ve found with humans like yourself, it’s often best to give you a taste—let a scenario play out to its logical extreme. Otherwise, you don’t learn.”

Fire licked at Gavin’s abdomen, settling in the base of his spine. RK900 could crush his windpipe faster than he could dislodge the regulator, and the danger sang to Gavin. He lost himself in the hypnotic blue swirl of RK900’s LED, the light pressure of the android’s five fingers, the black engulfing the robot’s eyes.

They were each other’s undoing.

“Your funeral, Nines,” Gavin said, breathless.

A quick flick of his wrist, and the regulator unlatched. Heat gushed past Gavin’s fingertips, increasing in ferocity as he pulled the cylinder further out. Blue blood poured down RK900’s torso, coating his skin a deep azure. The android gritted his teeth, dark eyes growing unfocused.

Gold then red then gold, again. So much blue— _too_ much blue. Panicking, Gavin shoved the regulator back into its slot and clicked it into place. Thirium slowed to a trickle, ebbing down abs, staining black leather bright blue. An electronic wheeze filled the garage, sending Gavin out of his skin.

“Yo, N-Nines?” Gavin asked.

RK900 wobbled, lacking his characteristic surefootedness. Gavin slipped his arms around RK900, cradling the android, in a bid to steady him. He groaned into Gavin’s shoulder—a synthetic sound, equal parts melodic and inhuman.

_At least he’s not dead,_ Gavin thought.

The embrace was short lived, however. Time and space blurred with pain as RK900 planted Gavin on the hood of the Camaro. Dogwood branches spun overhead, replaced by a feral grin. Fingers closed around Gavin’s neck, hard enough to bruise—their game of chicken resuming in full.

“I’m still here,” Gavin taunted. He yelped, narrowly missing a shoe to balls, as RK900 planted his foot on the hood.

“You assumed murder,” RK900 said, “but I never agreed to end your meager existence.”

“Cute.” Gavin grimaced, trying to ease his crotch from the polished tip of RK900’s shoes. “This, uh…is all this about that fight from yesterday?”

“Not specifically,” RK900 responded, “but it _is_ about us.”

The android’s dark eyes shone with eager malevolence. He tightened his grip, restricting Gavin’s airflow in small increments. The Camaro groaned as he leaned on his perched knee, free hand dripping blue blood all over Gavin’s inner thigh. The human’s vision blurred, orange nylon tightening in places he’d rather it not.

One finger popped into RK900’s mouth, then another, stripping them of blue sludge. He licked a slow stripe up his palm, and sucked on his thumb. Blue instead of red; blood instead of ketchup. Gavin had no choice but to interpret it as flirting, fearful of how RK900 came into possession of _all_ his late night fantasies.

“It was always about us—and your car.”

“My car?” Gavin asked, puzzled, “what about my car? Speaking of—if you dent my baby, I’m gonna crush that dildo in your chest for real. Even if I’ve gotta come back from the grave to do it.” 

The threat emptied Gavin’s lungs of what little air remained. He tried to take a breath, but RK900’s restrictive grip barred most of it. Small spots filled Gavin’s vision, and he relaxed, contentment settling in his burning chest.

RK900 paused, temple blipping red, and released Gavin, stepping back from the human.

Oxygen raced through Gavin’s body in a wash of flames. Pressure built along the lower half of his spine, pleasing, but far from enough to bring him to completion. He wanted more, frustration digging in deeper with each passing second. Limbs still heavy, Gavin reached for his throat, sussing out bruises.

Body a mess of aches and adrenaline, Gavin sat up, letting his legs dangle over the front bumper of the car. He couldn’t meet the android’s eyes, but noted the way RK900 rubbed his chest. Like and unlike Gavin’s exploration of his neck.

“Now, we’re even,” RK900 said, “an eye for an eye.”

Turquoise stained his cheeks, and a deep teal colored his neck. Gavin imagined it extending to the top of RK900’s pecs, if not beyond. He wished to see it for himself, but, setting aside his throbbing throat, Gavin knew he couldn’t muster the courage to ask.

—

_The world is your oyster, Gav._

Eighteen year old Gavin stood, staring at the plush, green lawn of his childhood home—a teal split level straight out of the nineteen-sixties. Cheap, plastic tables littered the spacious yard, alongside a host of dented metal chairs. Forlorn, he studied his graduation cake, wishing for the world he was playing paintball in the old Fisher body plant with his friends. He took a sip of warm beer.

_So, what comes next, kiddo?_

“What comes next?”

“What?” Gavin shouted, with a start.

“I said,” RK900 repeated, “why do you insist on an analog car?” The android sat on the backend of the Camaro, watching Gavin. He brought a silver pouch to his lips and sucked it dry. Drops of blue coalesced at the corner of his mouth and a pink blur darted out to collect them.

“God,” Gavin groaned, “the fuck do you care?”

“I care because a car incapable of autonomy isn’t street legal,” RK900 answered.

_Complete and utter bullshit_.

“Good thing I’m a fuckin’ cop then, yeah?” Gavin said.

“Abuse of your position isn’t an explanation,” RK900 said, “how were you able to do this?” He placed a reverent hand on the Camaro’s back window.

Gavin frowned, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Look, my old man knows a thing or two about cars,” Gavin reluctantly explained, then quickly changed the topic. “Is this some kinda interrogation, Nines? You gonna bring me in? Y’know, handcuff me, read me my fuckin’ rights—all that jazz?”

A look crossed the android’s face, and he opened his mouth to respond, but thought better of it, at the last moment. Teal hit his cheeks, and he looked away, fixated on the overgrown bushes hiding them from street view.

Neither man had broached the subject, yet—both parties unwilling to talk about whatever had transpired between them. Gavin had simply driven down the road, covered in android blood, and returned fifteen minutes later with a few Thirium pouches in tow. He didn’t ask RK900 if the android needed the stuff, or if he had a flavor preference; just as he hadn’t made eye contact with the gas station clerk or the loud drunk scratching off lotto tickets next to the card reader.

“Why this car, then?” RK900 asked, meeting Gavin’s eye, “brand loyalty? Something to do with your family? Did you inherit it from your father?”

“God, you ask too many fucking questions, Nines,” Gavin said, “can’t a man buy a car ‘cause it looks badass goin’ ninety down 75?”

RK900’s expression hardened. He looked down at his ruined sweater and the vibrant blue stains covering his tight pants, then slid off the trunk. RK900 wiped his mouth with the back of his clean hand, and crumpled the Thirium pouch into a tight ball.

“I don’t know what I expected,” RK900 said in frustration, “but I shouldn’t have gotten my hopes up.”

“The hell’s that supposed to mean?” Gavin blurted, stumbling over the words. He stepped towards RK900, but the android turned away.

“This is nothing but an exercise in frustration,” RK900 said, words lacking their typical confidence. He rounded the curve, and set off down Gavin’s driveway.

“Woah, woah, woah, buddy,” Gavin shouted. He dashed in front of RK900, arms stretched wide. He could only imagine how strange the whole affair looked from the outside—two squabbling grown men covered in robot blood, trying and failing to communicate. He felt like the star of a reality TV show.

RK900 placed a hand on Gavin’s upper arm, and started pushing. Gavin grabbed the android’s wrist and shoved back.

“Waitaminute, Nines!” Gavin yelled, verging on laughter, “you’re not goin’ anywhere.”

“I’m not?” The android cocked his eyebrow. He easily shoved Gavin to the side, and continued his jaunt towards the street.

“No, you’re not.” Gavin leapt in front of RK900. “You’re stickin’ around, Nines, ‘cause you and me got words to mince.”

A curious expression overtook RK900’s face—not quite a smirk, something more sublime. It carried into his eyes, RK900’s LED bouncing between gold and cyan.

“And if I don’t want to?”

“You don’t get to fuckin’ roll up on a man unannouced, pull...whatever all that was, and then just decide to fuck off!” Gavin grabbed RK900’s sweater, soft fabric turned tacky with blue blood. He tugged, bringing the android level and hating the desperation in his voice.

RK900 cocked his head, and tapped his chin—a delicate, almost mischievous, smile reaching his lips. A pit formed in Gavin’s stomach—the realization he’d been played for a chump. But reassurance quickly extinguished the sensation. When all was said and done, Gavin craved the android’s presence, and this was what he’d always wanted, wasn’t it? Pushing RK900 to the point of confrontation, dragging the proverbial stick out of the robot’s ass. A dick-swinging contest, on Gavin’s terms, that ended in something _more._

“I suppose I still have work to do here,” RK900 said, cryptic.

The android turned on his heel, and disappeared behind the bushes. Gavin followed, stopping in his tracks as RK900 exited the garage with two buckets and some sponges. He opened his mouth to ask.

“We’re going to wash your car, Reed,” RK900 announced. He set the buckets next to the Camaro’s front wheel.

“You’re fuckin’ with me, right?” Gavin asked. “She’s not...dirty.” When RK900 didn’t immediately respond, he placed a protective hand on one of the rear racing stripes. Metallic paint glittered in organic patches, where the sun managed to penetrate the dogwood’s thick canopy.

“Not yet,” RK900 said, “but I’ll take care of that. Don’t you worry.”

Hunger blossomed in RK900’s eyes, his sharp teeth bared in a predatory smile. He patted the vehicle’s nose, and dragged his Thirium coated fingers along the chassis on approach to Gavin, pace as slow as it was suggestive.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I borrowed Gavin’s family from my other series, but the stories are completely unrelated


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been gunning to write this exact scene for over a year and now it’s finally been exorcised from my soul. Dog bless

_ “Y’see that?” The tech pointed to a perfectly smooth obsidian ball. Glowing blue lines bisected specific points along the surface, dressing it in colorful geometry. “It’s the  _ real _ android. All this body crap is just window dressing. Sick, right?”  _

Once, on a dare—not Gavin’s dare, of course; the less he understood about his partner, the better—a bored code monkey popped open RK900’s skull. Gavin was dicking around on Twitter 2.0, waiting for the tech to wrap up robo-surgery when the creeper called him into the workstation. Life had few constants, but pasty guys who wore anime shirts to the office  _ always  _ spelled trouble. Years of living with his eldest brother had made that abundantly clear. 

The android’s skull cavity was nearly empty, lacking the classic positronic brain or coiled microchip array. Instead, concentric, black and white plasteel rings filled its center, held in place by a few carbon coils and cyan fibers. The tech smashed a Cheeto covered finger onto his overgrown computer, aligning the unconscious robot’s rings, and ejecting the AI core. Gavin’s lunch lurched back up his esophagus. 

Some truths were too much to bear; others, better left buried. The more overbearing the truth, the harder it hit when it finally forced its way to the surface. 

“Reed.” 

Like a cannonball straight to the gut. 

“Reed, we need to discuss your car.” 

Heat stung Gavin’s fingers and he cursed, dropping the smoldering remains of his cigarette to the ground. He stomped it into a pile of ashen cinders with his sneaker. RK900 watched, stretching his body along shaded orange steel, elongating his back with an arch and resting his head on a bed of crossed arms. 

“How would you like to tackle our problem?” RK900 asked casually, as if the obscene curve of his ass wasn’t angled high in the air. Gavin traced it, deciding it should’ve been illegal to build a robot that thick.

“Dunno how to break this to you, man.” Gavin’s mouth ran dry. “I...I washed her yesterday.” 

RK900 stood, much to Gavin’s chagrin, and slid a hand under the bottom of his blood stained sweater. Thirium soaked the dark fabric, staining it a rich blue. His fingers danced between the hem and the waist of his pants—a threat, if Gavin had ever seen one. 

“Are you certain?” RK900 asked, “maybe you should check again,  _ Detective.”  _

“I ain’t fuckin’ blind, dumbass, I—” 

The sweater came off in a fluid blur of cyan on black, revealing a milky white torso covered in a patchwork of blue blood. The desire to taste RK900 struck Gavin, urging him to press his tongue along subtle abs and lean muscle, to nip the sharp  _ v  _ of the android’s hips. Gavin’s dirty fantasies were coming true, one by one. Almost like the android knew Gavin subsisted solely on bad pornos and the thought of being stepped on. 

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t—

_ Splat!  _

A fine, blue mist sprayed across the front of Gavin’s car. Again and again, the ruined sweater collided with the Camaro’s hood, coating it in excess Thirium. Gavin’s lizard brain struggled to reconcile the attack with the way RK900’s muscles rippled under artificial skin. Two dissonant moments colliding into a single reality. 

“Nines!” Blood worked its way up north, enough for Gavin to grow cognizant of the scene unfolding before him. “What the  _ fuck  _ are you doing to my baby! You got a goddamn screw loose up there?” 

Another slap. Another malevolent smile. Gavin threw himself onto the hood, grabbing for the sweater, in a futile gesture. RK900 pulled it from reach with ease, taunting the detective. 

“Dirty,” RK900 reiterated, squeezing the sweater with a final twist, “just as I said.” 

Blue oozed everywhere, pooling over metallic orange. Gavin pawed at it with his long sleeves, failing to absorb even a fraction of the mess. He flailed, chubbing up at the sight of RK900–the way the haughty android pushed out his chest and placed his hand on a bloodied hip. The dark smile hidden in his pale, blue eyes. 

“Bro,” Gavin yelled, “ I didn’t mean to fuck up your overpriced clothes, but that doesn’t give you a right to ruin my car.”

“Is that what you think this is, Detective?” RK900 cocked his eyebrow, slotting a thumb into the waist of those sinfully tight pants. 

“Fuck if I know what this’s  _ supposed _ to be!” Gavin exclaimed. “You don’t have to get naked to wash a car!” 

“Oh, but I do, Reed.” The devilish smile returned, and RK900 flung his destroyed sweater onto the car’s roof. “You see, both your car and  _ myself  _ are in dire need of attention.” 

Gavin reached for the sweater, balling it against his chest—a desperate squirrel collecting precious material for his nest, eager to give his idle hands something to grasp. The fabric held a sterile odor, vaguely chemical and wholly unnatural. It caught him off guard. He’d grown accustomed to scents of musk and cologne—reflections of a human partner. 

RK900 brought Gavin’s garden hose to his cheek, letting it gush water all over his face. He squeezed the green rubber, choked it, slid his fist along its plasticized length. Water poured over every inch of his body, flushing the soft ridges of his torso and thighs. It trickled along his groin, forcing wet leather to cling to his fat package—the one Gavin had dreamt of nightly. 

The android’s characteristic hair swoop broke into a mass of dark curls, glistening in the sun’s rays. They caressed RK900’s cheeks, and Gavin had the sudden urge to douse himself in ice water. Anything to calm the mounting hardness at his groin. 

RK900 knew how to put on a show—Gavin would give him that. 

“Shall we get started?” RK900 took a seat on the edge of the Camaro’s hood, crossing one long, gorgeous leg over the other. 

A smattering of sunlight hit RK900’s profile, illuminating the butane blue of his eyes. Gavin could practically taste the robot’s hunger, the slow building gravity of RK900’s hold over him. Gavin nodded his head and tried to quell the heat mounting at the base of his spine. 

—

_ “They’re a logical progression, y’know?”  _ Gavin heard the faraway laughter of his father.  _ “Someday those androids’ll be just like us—I can’t wait.”  _

Chemical vapor tickled Gavin’s nose. He kept his head down, slowly rubbing cleaner into the leather of the front seat. Behind him, RK900 furiously scrubbed the Camaro’s rear spoiler. A light show flickered in the rear view mirror—RK900’s temple blipping too fast to be anything short of preconstruction. Scheming. The android was scheming. But it said something that Gavin recognized as much. 

Their eyes met through the proxy of the mirror. RK900’s irises were dark, inky black, rimmed with the thinnest hint of blue. Gavin looked away to fumble with the radio. Eighties guitar riffs screeched—a welcome, painfully appropriate distraction. 

Gavin didn’t know what this was. Well, not exactly. He knew how it would  _ end,  _ but he struggled to track point  _ A  _ to point  _ B.  _ He stared down the pinnacle of a roller coaster, neon rail curving into a sheer drop. That moment where time dilated into nothing, and adrenaline flushed his every cell. 

Anxiety welled in his belly—butterflies, like he was an insecure virgin again; not a grown-ass man who’d taken his fair share of dicks over the years.

Anyone else— _ anyone— _ and they’d have been in Gavin’s bed ages ago. He would’ve caved after about a week. But RK900? Gavin couldn’t qualify his hesitation. It wasn’t entirely a matter of RK900’s speciation—Gavin had reconciled most of that ontological quandary. It was something harder to define—a thing Gavin rarely encountered when searching for sexual gratification. He sought the words, but they refused to come to him. 

“I require your assistance with the car’s exterior.” 

Gavin jumped at the cold, calculating voice. The android loomed behind him, still shirtless, still dripping god only knew what all over the driveway. 

“Dunno, man,” Gavin said, “seems like you got that shit down to a science. Wouldn’t wanna slow you down with my human-ness.” 

A pale hand came to rest between Gavin’s thighs, a hair’s breadth from his junk. Sweat beaded at his hairline. It would be so easy to press himself against the android’s forearm and rut like the sexually frustrated manchild he was, but hot fingers on his chin directed his thoughts elsewhere. 

RK900 forced Gavin to meet his face, fat curls halving the meager distance between the two men. 

“It wasn’t a suggestion, Reed,” RK900 said. “I don’t care for voyeurs.”

“Coulda fooled me.” Gavin swallowed, pretending he had composure, or any semblance of control over the situation. 

“Oh,  _ Detective,”  _ RK900 tutted, “I resent your choice to feign ignorance. How long are you going to pretend I can’t read your biometric output?” 

The android’s hand moved from the chair to Gavin’s inner thigh, fingers digging into the meat of his leg. Gavin’s limp dick stirred, rapidly swelling at RK900’s rough touch. He forced himself to look the robot in his frigid eyes. 

“What’re you gonna do about it, huh?” Gavin asked. 

The hand slid up Gavin’s leg, halting at the precipice of his groin. His head spun, and suddenly, he was a moth headed for the molten heart of a blast furnace. One moment of bliss for an eternity of oblivion. 

“Well, that all depends, Reed.” RK900 flashed a volatile grin.

“On what?” 

Fingers crept past his sluggish dick, sliding along his hip. 

“You, Detective.” 

“Whatever you dish, I can take.” Gavin scoffed. 

“I anticipated as much.” 

Arms slid around Gavin’s bare midriff, tugging him out of the car with ease. RK900 hefted him, like Gavin weighed nothing— _ was  _ nothing. He flailed, helpless against the latent strength of a secret, government grade robot, and bit back a humiliated groan. 

“Enjoying yourself, Reed?” Amusement rife in RK900’s tone. 

“Sure thing, Nines,” Gavin hissed, kicking out, “I fuckin’ love getting manhandled by a goddamned toaster!” 

“I’m aware,” RK900 purred— _ purred— _ like a cat. “You don’t hide your desires as well as you think you do, Detective.” 

RK900 shoved Gavin onto the Camaro’s hood, laying the detective out flat on his stomach. The maintenance jack remained affixed to the undercarriage, ensuring Gavin’s body stayed level. Gavin took a deep breath and yelped as a sponge bounced off the window, landing in front of his face with a wet slap. 

“Get to work, Reed.” 

“Nah, I’m good,” Gavin said, brat that he was. 

For a moment, nothing happened. Time slowed to a crawl. Gavin listened to the rabbit thump of his heart through the steel chassis of his car. Tapping fingers joined the chorus, and a warm weight enveloped Gavin’s form. RK900’s heated skin slid on the slick patch of sweat collecting in the small of Gavin’s back. 

“Do you need help, Reed? Coaching, maybe?” RK900 whispered into Gavin’s ear, “I’ll gladly demonstrate my technique.” 

RK900 intertwined their fingers. Together, they grabbed the sponge and began wiping wet circles into the metal. Each movement further hiked Gavin’s crop top, forcing more delectable skin to skin contact. 

“Robot meth must be a helluva drug, Nines.” Gavin wheezed, biting his lower lip. It did little to stave off the primal sounds building in his chest. 

“Your crass attempts at juvenile humor no longer faze me, Reed.” Lips met the shell of Gavin’s ear. Then teeth. Then a tongue—rougher than a human but not quite sandpaper grit. 

Fingers carded through Gavin’s hair. Gentle at first, RK900’s movements grew forceful. He took a fistful of auburn locks, pulling Gavin’s head back, straining the human’s neck muscles. Gavin resisted, reveling at the sharp pin pricks of pain that washed across his scalp, mouth pitched open a touch.

“It took some time, but I’ve realized you reject that which confuses you—including those things hidden within yourself,” RK900 said. 

Gavin could taste the smugness in RK900’s words, roll it on his tongue and swallow it down. 

“Anyone ever tell you you should be a detective, Nines?” Gavin chuckled, licking his lips. 

RK900 only tightened his grip—never enough to damage, but just enough to flex his capabilities. A prescient reminder of who held all the cards, even as he gave Gavin everything his pounding heart desired.

“You’re a perplexing creature, Reed. Sometimes, I just don’t know what to make of you.” The android sighed. 

“Seems like you got a pretty good idea from where I’m standing,” Gavin said. 

He slid backward, grinding into the robot’s groin. A prominent bulge met the cheeks of his ass, not quite hard, but also far from flaccid. Gavin made a choking sound and squeezed the sponge, spewing dirty water everywhere. 

RK900 pushed back, displacing the thin spandex veil hiding Gavin’s little entrance. His hole twitched at the hint of superheated hardness. God did he want that monster inside of him—the sooner the better. 

“Humans are entirely too predictable.” RK900 gently rocked to and fro, offering Gavin table scraps in lieu of the full course meal. 

“Fuck off!” The human groused, “like you don’t want this? Christ, you’re in denial.” 

RK900 took hold of Gavin’s hips, pinching and kneading the skin left uncovered by the short crop top. He slid a hand up Gavin’s sturdy flank, tracing muscles sculpted from hours poured into the local gym—proof Gavin had the capacity for discipline. 

“No, I know  _ exactly  _ what I want,” RK900 said, “I just—” 

He paused, and Gavin leapt. “You gonna finish that thought, pretty boy?” 

Fingers pinched Gavin’s nipple, sandwiching cold titanium between sensitive, pink flesh. Electricity erupted from Gavin’s chest. He wheezed out a pathetic moan. RK900 didn’t relent, rubbing a fingertip against the bud with  _ just _ enough pressure. Gavin’s cock twitched, promising to rip a hole in his goddamn leggings if its neglect continued. 

“I just wonder how a man like yourself finds himself  _ this  _ pent up,” RK900 said coolly. He twirled the little gem at the end of the barbell between his fingers—tugging it outward, eliciting a sharp, delicious flash of pain. Gavin bared his teeth, swallowing the cries welling within his diaphragm. 

“No one wants to get involved with a fuckin’ insomniac workaholic,” Gavin lied. 

“If you say so, Reed.”

“Yeah. I do,” Gavin said.

RK900 took Gavin’s pec in hand, massaging it, with special care paid towards the sore nipple. His thumb expertly rubbed the pierced bud, coaxing a medley of desperate sounds out of the detective. 

“A questionable assumption,” RK900 cooed, “I’d very much like to ream your little hole and stuff it full of my dick.” He rocked forward, brushing against Gavin, reminding him of the android’s exquisite cock. “But if you don’t want that…” 

“Christ, Nines!” Gavin blurted, unsure where the android learned how to talk like  _ that.  _ It did things to Gavin, stoked his belly with hot embers, and left him wondering what other filth RK900 kept hidden under that prim exterior. 

“As anticipated.” Gavin heard the android’s mean smile. “I’d ask you to beg, but that little number you put on yesterday more than communicated your...shall we say,  _ need.” _

“Horny-ass robot—ah!” 

RK900 balled his fist, tightening his hold on Gavin’s hair. The human grunted with impatience, wondering why he thought living out his fantasy with  _ this  _ robot would be anything less than a trial. God only knew what kind of hoops RK900 would put him through just to get some robo-dick. 

“Nines, get on with it!” Gavin hissed. “I’m gonna blow my load during the preamble at this rate.” 

“ _ That _ would be a travesty, wouldn’t it, Reed?” RK900 released his hair and lightly gripped Gavin’s neck, pinning him in place. “However, I’m in no hurry.” 

Fingers dragged along Gavin’s back, feather light. They came to rest on his ass, squishing a globe. 

“Nines.” Gavin’s voice hitched. His throat bobbed under the soft pressure of the android’s hand. “Help a man out, will ya? I—I fuckin’ need this...I— _ please.”  _

How sweet,” RK900 cooed, finger stroking a small circle at the base of Gavin’s skull. He roughly kicked the human’s legs apart. 

Gavin heard the sound of a zipper and his eyes bulged. He wished he could see the monster sliding against his leg. Hot and hefty, from the way it slapped Gavin’s inner thigh. He questioned how large android dicks got okayed on the corporate level; but computer nerds were pervy little fuckers, who pushed limits until someone with oversight bothered enough to care. 

It slotted between Gavin’s covered cheeks with some resistance, bouncing here and there, but ultimately weighed down by its heft. Gavin drooled onto the matte stripe beneath him, reeling when that blunt head kissed his twitching hole. Barrier or no, cold fluid and heady pressure taunted him, and he pushed back, chasing the promise of fullness. 

“You’re a needy thing, aren’t you, Reed?” RK900 continued to poke at Gavin’s entrance with his cock, teasing him with a taste of the one thing he needed the most. 

“Ain’t like I’m the only one here with a hard-on,” Gavin forced through gritted teeth. 

The android didn’t answer, content to experiment with Gavin’s tights—massaging his ass and snapping the material against his skin. Gavin took it all, offering himself with a beautiful arch and crying for more with every desperate whimper. RK900 hummed in delight and slid his hand down Gavin’s taint, brushing his fingers against the human’s trapped cock—a gift. 

“These are obscene,” RK900 murmured, rubbing Gavin through the spandex.

“‘Cause that leather number’s up to regulation.” 

Teeth pressed into supple flesh, lighting Gavin’s pain sensors. They drew along the curve of his ass, promising raised red lines but no blood. Spandex tore and Gavin grunted, wishing it had extended to his still trapped dick. 

RK900 spread Gavin’s cheeks to the tune of more ripped fabric, humming a pleased, electronic warble. Something scorching hot and hard slid along Gavin’s now freed crack, rubbing his sensitive hole. He whined, jolting forward when the fat head caught on his pucker. 

“Nines.” Gavin gulped down air, digging the half moons of his fingernails into his sweaty palms. “Man, I don’t know what kinda shit goes on in your hard drive, but I can’t take a pornstar dick without— _ ah— _ prep.” 

“I’d never dream of maiming your insides, Reed.” RK900 spread Gavin’s quivering hole between his thumbs. “I just enjoy watching you squirm.” 

Liquid, ice cold and viscous, flooded Gavin’s crack. He yelped in surprise, gritting his teeth. It oozed around his hole and dribbled onto his taint. Now frictionless, the android rocked faster, reminding Gavin of his emptiness with every thrust. 

RK900 drew a line from taint to hole, collecting a glob of the cold lube. He rubbed his thumb around the rim over and over, circling Gavin’s entrance but never dipping into its hungry maw. It made Gavin’s head fuzzy with want, and he spread his legs wider in offering. 

Without warning, RK900 jammed two slick fingers into the hot clutch, stretching Gavin’s silk insides. The human groaned, long and low, relieved to finally have something within him, stroking his walls. He pushed back, sucking RK900 deeper. 

“I want you to know, I’m going to fuck you on your car,” RK900 whispered into Gavin’s ear. 

In and out, in and out. A soft slurp filled the air, and Gavin felt the lube or cum or whatever it was dribbling out of his entrance. RK900’s pace remained steady, slow and hypnotizing but nowhere near enough. 

RK900 crooked his fingers, spearing the little nub deep inside of Gavin. He saw stars, fire licking his abdomen, and bit his sleeve. Sound carried through the cul de sac as did gossip. 

“You— _ fuck— _ been thinking about this a lot, Nines?” 

“Non-stop since your performance yesterday.” 

The third finger stretched Gavin wide, blessing him with a delicious burn. He squeezed, savoring the intrusion. RK900 continued fingering him at a glacial pace, and Gavin took matters into his own hands. He fucked himself on the fingers, but it was short lived—a steel grip halted Gavin, drawing a rueful groan from the detective. 

“I’ve been quite diligent in my preconstructions,” RK900 said, running a soothing hand down a frustrated Gavin’s back. “I like to imagine how you’d look, splayed across your car, covered in fluids.” 

RK900 withdrew his fingers, leaving Gavin empty and wanting. Gavin whimpered at the loss, hole fluttering and swollen. He tried to wipe the drool congregating at the corner of his mouth, but yelped as strong hands grabbed him. 

The android spun Gavin around and hefted him onto the hood of the car. He forced Gavin’s legs wide, bruising the detective’s thighs with his fingers and eyeing the distinct outline of a ramrod hard dick wrapped in spandex packaging. RK900 licked a canine, hunger in his eye. 

He propped himself onto his elbows, taking in the sight of his android partner. RK900’s pale skin contrasted the deep, purple shadows of the open garage, making him look that much more like a phantasm—a horny ghost Gavin accidentally summoned by virtue of being a sexually frustrated dick to everyone around him. 

The android’s cock brushed the inside of Gavin’s thigh. Long and thick, with a tapered head flushed a menacing jade. Translucent blue coalesced at the blunt tip, connecting to orange fabric by a thick, shimmering line. 

“Damn…” Gavin was almost rendered speechless, forced to reckon with the physical reality of what he’d spent so much time imagining. “Those CyberLife boys really went to town on you, huh?” 

“Humans are perverted creatures by nature.” RK900 slid his length along Gavin’s trapped cock, dwarfing him in more ways than one. “If it’s an issue, I’m more than happy to milk you with my fingers.” 

“Do—do you hear yourself when you say this shit, Nines?” Gavin choked and greedily reached for RK900’s dick. 

RK900 slapped away his hand.

“Perhaps we need to clear the air, Reed—I’m an autonomous individual with my own needs.” A hint of teal flushed RK900’s high cheeks, his temple glittering yellow. “And...desires.” 

“I’m not complaining and I never said you weren’t, buddy.” 

Gavin evaded the Android’s half-assed slap, and continued fishing for that glorious turquoise cock. He just wanted to hold it, gauge its heft, maybe pump it a few times. It looked so real, nothing like the glorified dildo Gavin always pictured. 

“Do you never stop, Reed?” RK900 took his wrists in hand, leaning into Gavin’s space. 

“I ain’t got an off button, if that’s what you’re gettin’ at.” A crooked grin, like a mangled saw blade. “But you already knew that, didn’t you, Terminator?” 

“Nor I.” RK900 narrowed his near black eyes, ignoring Gavin’s snide question. “You should recognize that, despite my being an android, I’m more similar than dissimilar to yourself, detective.” 

“Fuck no—the  _ only _ philosophical convo we’re having right now, Nines,” Gavin warned, “is whether or not that behemoth of yours’ll fit in my guts.” 

“It will, But only if you cease being a brat.” 

“Fine. Make me.” Gavin licked his lips. “Prissy bitch.” He scoffed, gunning for a rise. RK900 met him, tit for tat. 

“You’ll be crying once I’m done with you, detective.” RK900 dragged his teeth along Gavin’s jaw and grabbed two fistfuls of shirt. 

Gavin brought a trembling hand to RK900’s cheek, stroking the soft skin with his thumb. He twirled a loose coil of black hair around his finger—something he’d wanted to do since he’d seen RK900 lurking in the corner of the precinct lobby, employment packet in hand. 

“S’what I’m counting on, Nines.” 

RK900 nipped at Gavin’s jaw, and lightly circled his puffy entrance. He brought his lips level with Gavin’s, but the human turned at the last second, moaning softly and grinding his hole against the finger. 

The kiss was a bridge too far—intimate and meaningful. An evolution of two horny guys trying to use one another into an actual relationship. Gavin wasn’t ready, and RK900 didn’t seem keen on pushing him. He redirected, sucking a bruise into the detective’s neck, instead, trailing them onto his collarbone and finally pulling Gavin’s crop top over his head. 

“You crave someone to put you in your place,” RK900 said. 

Hot air poured over the top of Gavin’s chest, too rhythmic to be anything but breath. Soft lips traced the plump swell of his pecs, halting over a hard nipple. 

“And you _gotta_ have someone to put in their place.” Gavin shifted, grinding his pec into RK900’s face, sliding the bud against the android’s lips. “Isn’t that right, Nines? Power hungry bitch like you always needs a patsy to lord over, yeah?” 

“I’m not interested in a minion.” RK900 took the nipple and the barbell into his mouth. “A  _ partner  _ would be more optimal.” 

Teeth closed around the bud, tugging at the hardware and giving it a slight twist. Electricity wound through Gavin’s nerves with each lap or nip, body alight with addictive pain. RK900 bit into the meat of Gavin’s pec, and the human gurgled, overwhelmed by a sensory overdrive. 

RK900 took the other pec in hand and squeezed, treating the thick muscle like a glorified stress ball. 

“You have a rather enviable chest, Reed.” 

“Spend a lotta time at the gym.” Gavin panted. 

Three fingers breached Gavin, stuffing him full. They slammed into his prostate with keen precision, rubbing the nub again and again, gliding along slickened walls with ease. Gavin’s dick felt ripe, primed to burst. 

He clamped down on the fingers, chasing that high. Heaviness overtook his spine, energy congregating at its base and teetering on the brink of an overload. The android raked his nails over a nipple and twisted one of the barbells. 

Everything went white. 

Static washed over Gavin, phasing out everything but sweet, sweet release. The world returned piecemeal—birdsong tickled Gavin’s ear alongside a keen sense of being overstuffed. 

Fingers continued to gently pet his prostate, welcoming him back to reality with an unwavering sense of oversensitvity. Cum oozed down his leg and soaked his ruined leggings. 

“F-Fuck,” Gavin murmurred, falling back against the hood. His limbs weighed a ton and the thought of ever moving again made him wince—almost as much as RK900’s continued bullying of the bundled nerves within him. 

“Oh, we’re not done yet, Reed.” That predatory glint returned to RK900’s eye. “But that’s how it is with you and I—we’re never done, are we?” 

“If you and me ever figured out how to be done,” Gavin said, fighting through the almost pleasurable discomfort of overstimulation, “then life’d really suck ass.” 

Gavin closed his eyes, exhaustion fighting the slow burn of need beginning to well under his skin, once more. The android slid out of Gavin, rubbing his fingers against the detective’s inner thigh. Gavin’s swollen hole trembled. He clamped down on nothing, as if pure will would somehow make the fingers return to his rectum. 

Gavin cracked an eye. 

They stared at one another, a mutual understanding passing between them.

Gavin could never articulate why his past encounters left him wanting—what special sauce they’d always lacked. RK900 burst into his life like a tsunami, but hovered in that odd middle ground. Bullheaded and domineering, but self-aware of everything happening in his peripheral. Almost romantic in the same way Gavin’s childish grabs for attention were almost romantic. They both had terrible game, but sometimes two wrongs made a right. 

“How many orgasms do you think I could pull from you, Reed?” RK900 asked, stroking his daunting cock. “You’re young, healthy, and generally have no issues pushing limits.” 

Yeah, it was probably that—two magnets realizing that they were never truly the same polarity. 

Gavin laughed.

“So that’s how you’re gonna kill me—fuck me ‘til my heart gives out, huh?” Gavin grinned, excitement eating away at his exhaustion. 

RK900 petted the detective’s hair, and positioned his cock at Gavin’s entrance. 

—

Gavin grunted through his third orgasm, clenching tight around the hot dick pumping his insides. It hit everything all at once, filling Gavin in ways he never thought possible. There was no reprieve, only the endless sensation of being primed to burst. The android pressed Gavin’s knees to his shoulder, bundling him into a tight package. It didn’t seem possible, but the cock moved deeper, the flushed tip going further than anyone who’d fucked him before. 

His prostate screamed, painful sparks ricocheting along his spine with every wet slap of RK900’s balls against his ass. RK900 lacked finesse, but that hardly mattered when every pivot felt like a hit to the back of Gavin’s throat. The android pulled back, until the mushroom head squeezed out of Gavin’s swollen entrance with a wet pop. 

At this rate, Gavin wouldn’t be able to walk for a week. 

Maybe that was for the better. He wouldn’t forget this dicking anytime soon. That pretty teal cock with its flared tip and fake, throbbing veins would fill his dreams for the rest of eternity. He’d never need to watch porn again—that was for damn sure. 

“You look good stretched out on a dick, Reed,” RK900 hummed in his effervescent static way. Gavin realized it was the android equivalent of singing. The robot was pleased with himself, giddy at the thought of absolutely wrecking Gavin with his cock, and ensuring the man would never have peace of mind again.

Gavin wondered how his ass must look right now; rim pink and puffy, with a slight gape, drooling viscous blue lube. His throat bobbed, and RK900 flipped him over. 

The blunt tip returned to Gavin’s hole, his pucker eager to slurp it right back into that tight, velvet channel. RK900 shoved in his cock, meeting minimal, if any, resistance. He’d already molded the detective’s insides to its shape. Gavin opened his mouth in silent scream, suddenly filled to the brim once more. 

Gavin’s dick twitched, reluctantly filling with interest, swelling hard against his thigh. He wished for the world RK900 would touch it, maybe give it a pump or two. 

“So good...so docile,” RK900 purred into the little hairs at the base of Gavin’s skull. “I know you’re a good boy and I know you’ll come for me again, won’t you, Reed?” 

The android pulled almost all the way out, then slammed back in, to the hilt. Gavin whimpered, back arching, presenting himself like a cat in heat. RK900 set a punishing pace. Nasty, wet sounds filled Gavin’s ears. Excess lube dribbled from his ruined hole, and he squeezed, hoping to keep it inside. 

“Insatiable robot asshole,” Gavin muttered. 

More words began falling out of him—idle babble, marking the transition from pain to pleasure. Half-hearted admonishments became pleas and promises. He held fast, focusing on the mounting heat that built with every thrust. His prostate couldn’t hide— _ he _ couldn’t hide. 

“I’ve wanted to fuck you for a long time, Reed.” RK900 squeezed the fat globes of Gavin’s ass, bruising the delicate muscle. 

“Y-Yeah?” Gavin started to push back, meeting RK900’s thrusts halfway, greedy for more. 

“You think I didn’t notice the way you’d change in my presence?” RK90 grabbed a whimpering Gavin’s hips, preventing him from moving. “The wayward glances, the constant need to hiss and flail. Not to mention, how your clothing went from angry slob to rugged, middle-aged crisis.” 

“You think I did that shit for you?” Gaivn could barely think, the molten presence had returned to his abdomen, reaching a fever pitch. 

“You think androids are naive, but I’m an infiltration unit designed after a man in his early thirties—you truly think I can’t tell when someone is flirting with me?” 

RK900 ripped Gavin’s leggings down their seam, finally freeing the human’s aching cock. It bobbed in the warm air, coated in Gavin’s semen. The android pumped it a few times, pulling back the foreskin with his thumb. Gavin cried out, painfully sensitive, but not quite at that plateau. 

“I watched the way you studied me.” Teeth tugged at Gavin’s neck. “Always staring at my face, my legs—making an obvious point not to look at my crotch.”

“Cocky sumbitch.” Gavin gritted his teeth, chasing that high on both ends. “If you figured everything out in a fuckin’ day, why’d it take you ‘til now to make a move, huh?” 

RK900 fell silent, his voice replaced by the sounds of flesh slapping flesh. He twisted his wrist and swiped his thumb across the angry red tip of Gavin’s dick. Gavin fucked into RK900’s fist, all thoughts forgotten except the sensation of being stuffed full of robo-dick. 

With a choked cry, Gavin came, his swollen cock shuddering in RK900’s punishing grip. Nothing fled its tip—he’d been milked completely dry. The human collapsed boneless against his car, insides squeezing RK900’s dick in an uncontrolled vice. It must have been enough to finally push the machine to his limit. 

A bass warble played next to Gavin’s ear, and the human groaned as teeth clamped against his shoulder. RK900 came and he came  _ hard.  _ Icy fluid rushed into Gavin’s guts, filling him to the brim. Pulsing spurts of come continued—going deep, so deep, too deep to effectively clean. RK900 had marked Gavin as his for all intents and purposes. 

His belly cramped, but Gavin was too tired to do anything about it. He closed his eyes, listening to the weird synthesizer noises coming from RK900’s diaphragm. The android was warm—a heated blanket at odds with the frigid slime creeping through Gavin’s intestines. 

With a synthesized grunt, RK900 pulled out, and fell atop his partner. Cold liquid gushed from Gavin’s wrecked hole. It dripped down his thighs. He wanted to intervene—to scoop it back inside, so he could curb the abrupt emptiness, but the thought of moving hurt more than the action. 

“Thanks, toaster,” Gavin muttered against his car, “I fuckin’ needed that.” 

A head nodded in agreement against Gavin’s upper back. The human smiled, trying not to think about how he’d have to physically drag himself into his house later. 

—

“Same time next week?” Gavin asked, a deeper question lingering between the two men. His confidence faltered, but he’d already forced out the words. He sucked on a cigarette, quelling the nervous tremor in his hands with soothing nicotine. 

RK900 adjusted the ratty sweatpants, clearly displeased they fell four inches shy of his ankle. Gavin had to admit the android looked good in anything, even his shitty gym clothes. He winced as he sat on the Camaro’s squeaky clean hood, already rehearsing his excuse for calling out of work tomorrow. 

The android hung back, head cocked in that predatory way, analyzing Gavin—his every word torn apart and reconfigured. He stopped pinching the old band t-shirt between his fingers and thoughtfully tapped his chin. Gavin took another puff, waiting for the verdict. 

“I’m amenable to that,” RK900 said. His face remained characteristically non-expressive, but excitement welled in his cold eyes. 

Gavin took a prolonged drag and flicked it onto the ground, before releasing the sigh of relief weighing down his lungs. 

Thank god. He’d sleep well tonight—better than he had in years. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> King of the Hill voice: Yup...
> 
> All I ever hope to achieve with this pairing is Gavin’s trashiness inadvertently rubbing off on RK900 and RK900 refusing to come to terms with that even as they pull up to the drive-thru liquor store to get Gav a 40 and some scratch offs.  
> Somewhere along the way a tire will burn due to one of them throwing live fireworks at the other.  
> #Rust Belt Gothic


	4. Chapter 4

A shadow crossed the velveteen light of the television screen, coming to a stop in front of RK900. The android stirred, unfurling from his throw pillow, and stared at the golden circle adorning the shadow’s temple. Intent wafted through the air in small data packets, but RK900 paid it no heed. 

“Something’s changed between you and Detective Reed,” the shadow accused. 

“You shouldn’t put stake in salacious gossip,” RK900 told the shadow. 

The shadow—Connor—crossed his arms, biceps illuminated in the cast off incandescent light of the screen. He’d placed his body directly into RK900’s line of sight, blocking the lion’s share of the TV and hitting the younger android where it hurt.

“What could be more salacious than you visiting the detective’s home once a week?” Connor asked. 

The older android placed his hands on his hips, indicating RK900 would receive neither peace nor partially scripted drama until he answered. RK900 languidly stretched his legs across the length of the couch, digging in his heels. 

“You have a twisted imagination, Connor,” he said, glaring at his predecessor. 

“Given your furtive behavior, I think I may be right on the money.” Connor smiled, a devilish twinkle in his eye. 

“You watch too much daytime television,” RK900 sighed. 

RK900 tossed a pillow at his roommate, hoping it would shoo Connor, but his predecessor caught it with ease.  _ Red. Gold. Gold. Gold.  _ Connor’s aura had shifted, as well. RK900 detected the hint of a proper interrogation on the horizon. 

“I aid the detective in menial tasks involving his car,” RK900 relented, “to no one’s surprise, Reed’s a terrible mechanic.” 

The screams of a ruined man filled the apartment. One of the TV program’s subjects—possibly an ex-husband, but RK900 would never know thanks to his intrusive  _ brother _ —accused a bystander of ruining his Gucci suit, with cut rate champagne. A real travesty. RK900 commiserated with the stranger, thinking back to the expensive outfit Reed destroyed during their first tryst. 

Connor stepped to the side, revealing the image of an adult man rolling on the floor in psychological anguish. RK900 wished the display surprised him, but Reed had been on the precipice of this exact behavior too many times to count. Hands closed around the younger android’s ankles, gently repositioning him on the couch. 

“What is it you’re afraid of, brother?” Connor sat, staring at his successor. 

The program cut to commercials, leaving the twins with nothing but their thoughts. Frustration radiated off of Connor in electromagnetic bursts—his primordial urge to collect data, down to the barest minutiae, on full display. 

“You’re making no sense, Connor.” RK900 kept his eyes trained on the TV. 

“You’ve gone from constantly complaining about Detective Reed to complete silence,” Connor accused, “and for weeks now, you’ve visited him.  _ Every. Sunday.” _

RK900 burrowed deeper into the couch, clutching a new throw pillow tight. He didn’t understand this burgeoning thing between him and Reed, but RK900 knew he had no need for Connor’s perspective on the matter. 

“If I developed feelings for Reed, you’d be the first to know,” RK900 said, mostly into his pillow. He was distressed to learn he couldn’t sink any lower into the couch, without damaging it. 

The program’s title card flashed on screen, bringing with it a hint of relief. RK900 shifted his view, catching sight of a face soaked in the crimson light of its LED. 

“No.” Connor shook his head. “I think love would frighten you and you’d deny it.” 

_ Love? Who said anything about love?  _

“That’s absurd and irrational on so many levels.” RK900 scoffed, returning his attention to the TV. 

Chaos flitted across the television in motes of red, green, and blue, but Connor pointedly stared at RK900, brown eyes wide. He didn’t need to say the words. They were already out there, floating in the ether between siblings. 

Credits rolled, and RK900 shut off the screen with a flick of his wrist. He stood, ready to retire to his room, but paused as Connor cleared his throat. 

“Love is about trust, not control,” the older android said, “I worry that you’re unprepared to sacrifice one for the other.” 

RK900 paused at the mouth of the living room, his hand braced on the door frame. A number of thoughts raced through the intricate web of his mind, but one response materialized at a higher rate than any of the others. 

“If you say so, Connor.” 

RK900 ensured his bedroom door shook the entirety of the apartment when he slammed it closed. 

—

_ Love?  _

The bullpen filled with the sound of frantic fingers dancing across keyboards. Five o’clock Friday, right on the cusp of shift change. A nervous energy flitted around the large room as people watched the slow tick tock of clock hands. Everyone but RK900, who stared at the back of his partner’s head. 

_ I’m not in love with the detective. That’s absurd.  _

Any material feelings were those of elation. RK900 had made the breakthrough none of his colleagues could—he’d changed Reed for the better. In the ten weeks since beginning their ‘arrangement,’ Reed had gone from petulant manchild to  _ simply _ a disagreeable adult. No more daily outbursts or fist fights in the parking lot, and while the poor jokes lingered, Rome wasn’t built in a day. Far from a complete turnaround, but incremental improvements were still improvements. 

RK900 watched Reed ferret around his workspace, shirt riding the small of his back as he cursed under his breath. The android plucked a flash drive from his neatly organized drawer and held it out to his manic partner. Their eyes met, the moment protracting into a full minute, and Reed accepted the drive with a brisk  _ thanks.  _

Reed clicked the flash drive’s icon on his home screen, taking seconds to do what RK900 could do in a fraction of that. Harsh, blue light highlighted the scar across his nose and the camouflaged freckles dotting his cheeks. 

_ Ours is an exchange: good behavior for sexual release,  _ RK900 reminded himself. And yet, he couldn’t explain the low broil in the pit of his stomach—the unrealized feelings he didn’t have the proper vocabulary to translate. He stressed their meetings as utilitarian, but doubt continued to undermine his beliefs, much to the android’s frustrations. 

“You’re coming out with us tonight, right, Gav?” 

Officer Chen had somehow crept up on Reed without RK900’s notice. She draped over Reed’s monitor, obscuring his view of the screen. It creaked under her weight, threatening to crack—much like its owner, judging by the grimace on Reed’s face. 

“It’s leg day, Chen,” Reed said, “I never miss leg day.” 

“Gav.” Chen shot him an incredulous look. “You don’t get to make everyday ‘Leg Day’ just to avoid your friends. Now, c’mon!” 

Reed ripped the flash drive from his terminal. A red box flashed on screen, chastising him for an improper removal sequence. It washed his face in crimson. 

“Teen,” Reed snapped, shaking his head, “I got shit to do tonight. We can get trashed some other time...Jesus.” 

Chen dramatically flung herself from the monitor, glaring at Reed. She met RK900’s eye.

“What about you?” Chen asked, “you’ve never been to a club before, right?”

“Me?” RK900 pointed at his chest. “I’m not—”

“Yeah! This’ll be so much fun!” Chen exclaimed, cutting off the android’s response, “I can show you how to play thirsty guys for free drinks!” 

Reed swiveled around in his chair, stormy expression laser focused on the android. RK900 detected a sharp increase of cortisol production and the fervent uptick of Reed’s heart rate. He tapped the drive against his desk, waiting for some kind of response. RK900 looked from Reed, to the mischievous smirk of Chen, and back, again. He couldn’t help sensing  _ his _ Friday night was being wagered in some kind of personal clash. 

“Don’tcha think Nines’s already opportunistic enough?” Reed asked, locking his gaze with RK900, “ain’t doing anyone any favors by teaching him how to be worse, yeah?” 

The tapping ceased, but Reed’s stress level continued to climb. 

“I don’t—,” RK900 said. 

“Well,” Chang sang, “he wouldn’t need to hit up lonely strangers if you’d come out with us—he’d have  _ you.”  _

“This isn’t—,” RK900 began. 

“The fuck’s that supposed to mean!” Reed roared, once again refusing RK900 a chance to speak. 

The android leaned back in his seat, stewing in agitation. He watched his partner’s heartbeat spike out of control and the tips of his ears burn a bright red—an analogous shade to RK900’s LED. Plastic creaked as Reed’s fist closed around the little drive. RK900 slid his foot along the human’s calf in reassuring circles. Both Reed’s biometrics, and his grip, grew lax. 

“Now that that’s—,” RK900 started. 

“Know what?” Reed interjected, “don’t fuckin’ answer that—I’m out. You two enjoy your bullshit.” 

RK900 crossed his arms and bit his lower lip. His partner shot him an ambiguous glare and marched out of the bullpen. The android wasn’t readily equipped to decrypt Reed’s behavior, nor was he in the mood. He considered chasing after the detective—a means to air grievances and break down whatever just transpired—but thought better of it. They’d see each other on Sunday.

“God!” Chen pinched the bridge of her nose. “Is it possible for a man to be  _ too  _ single?”

“I’m not equipped to answer that,” RK900 said. 

Snatching the abandoned flash drive, RK900 thought back to his stolen moments with Reed—the way Reed melted into his hands with the slightest provocation. The needy sighs and soft grunts. The glazed expressions. It softened the android’s dour mood. 

“So, you’re coming, then?” Chen asked RK900, with a hint of resignation and a weary smile. 

The android placed the drive into its appointed slot in his desk drawer, and clasped his hands together. He stared at her, weighing his options for the night—movies with Connor or clubbing with Chen. In the end, his decision surprised even himself. 

“I’ll go,” RK900 said, wistful Reed wouldn’t also be in attendance. 

—

Bass rumbled—a low, rhythmic growl that filled the small venue. Soundwaves bounced off the vaulted ceiling and old fixtures, churning through RK900 in a furious rush. Dozens of bodies writhed on and around a raised section of the floor. Once an elaborate centerpiece, it had since been converted into a simple dance floor, draped in neon. RK900 imagined what the place must have looked like back when it was first constructed, over a hundred years ago.

Glitter and glow sticks flowed past the android—people rushing to greet their friends, who were sat at burnished steel tables and bright, leather couches. It occurred to RK900 that he’d been designed to navigate spaces like this, but he still felt overwhelmed. 

“Oh my god!” someone screamed from behind, “you look so good!” 

Arms closed around the android’s neck, and RK900 quickly realized the message had been for  _ him.  _ He tensed, fighting the urge to grab the intruder and flip her onto the floor, as his baseline code was wont to do. A quick glance over his shoulder revealed a rosy cheeked Tina Chen hoisting herself off the ground with his shoulders. 

“I was so afraid you’d decide not to come,” Chen said. She pulled away from RK900, examining his outfit—all black, from top to bottom—and unbuttoned the three top buttons of his shirt. “There! Now, all the boys’ll be on high alert.” 

RK900 stared at Chen—from her genuine grin to her short, sparkly red dress and matching heels—and down to his newly exposed cleavage. He sighed. The android wasn’t convinced he  _ wanted  _ other men to be ‘on alert.’ He wasn’t even sure why he’d come out tonight, other than to break the monotony of his routine. 

“You should roll up your sleeves too,” Chen tapped her cheek. “I swear, some guys  _ lose  _ it over elbows. One time, me and Gav—” 

Chen snapped her mouth shut, and forced a loose smile. 

“Are you my wardrobe assistant?” RK900 asked dryly. 

“I prefer the term, ‘wingman,’” Chen said, with a wink. She hooked her arm around RK900’s and led him deeper into the club. 

Strangers shuffled past, wide pupils lingering on one or both figures. Claustrophobia wound around RK900, plaguing him with an endless stream of sounds, smells, and visuals. 

“I don’t need of a wingman,” RK900 said. 

They walked past the bar—a fusion of old mahogany and buzzing neon. People packed next to each other, jostling for the attention of the bartender—a bearded man with coke bottle glasses and a smart pair of suspenders, draped across his back in an  _ x.  _ He leaned over to pour a shot, and met the android’s eyes. The bartender smiled, twisting his blonde mustache. 

Chen waved, then pointed at her companion. The bartender waved back, gaze still glued on RK900. 

_ “That,”  _ Chen said, “is why you  _ do _ need a wingman.” 

RK900 rolled his eyes and followed Chen up a small staircase tucked behind the bar. 

“He was definitely into you.” Chen beamed. 

“Or you,” RK900 responded. 

“Nah,” Chen dismissed, with a broad wave of her hand, “not  _ my _ type, and clearly not  _ his.” _

“And you think him mine?” RK900 huffed.

Chen halted, halfway up the stairs, nearly tripping a woman, who was on her way down. 

“Auburn hair.” Chen held up a finger. “Kinda short, clearly works out, and radiates a little bit of gremlin energy—yeah, I’d say he’s your type.” 

RK900 slowly blinked, processing the subtext in Chen’s response. He felt he’d missed the joke, based on her wide grin.  _ Is she...she must be referencing Reed.  _

A hand slipped around RK900’s wrist, and Chen dragged him up the remaining steps, to the VIP lounge. Acrylic dividers cordoned off sprawling white couches. At the center of each was a table, inset in the middle, and plastered with faux gold.  _ How gauche,  _ RK900 thought. Lights beneath the short table slowly cycled through a bevy of oversaturated colors. 

“Coming through!” a bartender in a skimpy dress yelled over generic trance beats. She placed her payload, two enormous champagne bottles nestled in a bed of ice, onto the center of the table. Little sparklers protruded from their necks, spitting golden flecks over the thick, glass surface. 

RK900 tried to analyze the situation, but came to the conclusion that it didn’t matter. This place was meant to be a topsy turvy break from logic. He’d seen clubs in movies and TV shows, but never expected such an intimidating influx of data. It was difficult to prioritize his thoughts with so much occurring at one time. 

A cork whizzed past RK900’s face, almost clipping his nose. Chen giggled, chasing white suds with her hand as they coursed down the side of the champagne bottle. 

“As your wingman,” Chen said, bullying the bottle into submission, “I’m instructing you to get that guy’s number.” 

“I’ll take your proposal in stride,” RK900 responded. He took residence on the far side of the couch, overlooking the dance floor. 

“This isn’t a negotiation,” Chen called in a sing-song voice. 

“What’s not a negotiation, now?” 

Chris Miller rounded the corner and chastised Chen for her mishandling of the alcohol. Others joined the fray—some RK900 recognized from the station. They chatted and laughed, the android all but forgotten. 

RK900 eased into the cushion and allowed himself to be subsumed into the whorl of sound, texture, and color. Notes morphed into pleasant strands of blues and greens. His mind wandered, conjuring images of his partner. 

He thought of Reed and Reed’s potential response to RK900 flirting with this prospective bartender. Would Reed be angry? Upset? Unresponsive? RK900 and the detective met once a week for sex, but they’d never set boundaries or precluded the possibility of finding another partner. What if Reed were here, with RK900? Would he sling his arm around the android’s waist? Or would he continue to pretend they were  _ just  _ colleagues? Would Reed take offense at another man’s flirtations, or seek out a new sexual partner? 

Possibilities swelled into innumerable branches, daunting in scale. 

“Hey, man!” Miller plopped into the spot opposite RK900. “Glad you decided to come out!” 

RK900 snapped out of his headspace. 

“Yes…,” the android said, “I—this place is very boisterous.” 

“Don’t let it get to you.” Miller waved off RK900’s concerns. He offered the android a glass of champagne. “I know you said don’t eat fries, but…” Miller shook the glass. 

“It would have no effect on me,” RK900 said. 

“Damn, that sucks,” Miller lamented, “CyberLife needs to get on the ball.”

Chen cozied next to RK900, sliding into the space to his right. She smiled at the android, and launched into a round of light conversation with Miller. The remainder of the group trickled into place, sharing jokes and gripes. RK900 listened, filing away various tidbits of information. 

_ Miller has a wife, who’s six months pregnant. Chen wakes up at four am to make elaborate health smoothies. The group believes Connor is dating Hank, and haven’t decided if that makes Hank a silver fox or not.  _ That last one, RK900  _ could  _ confirm, but he kept his lips sealed. 

“I don’t get Gav lately,” Chen sighed, “he’s been so... _ what’s the word?  _ Withdrawn! Yeah! He used to come out with us all the time, but now it’s like pulling teeth.” 

“I wouldn’t worry about it, Teen,” Miller said, sipping his drink, “man’s got a lot on his plate.” 

“He doesn’t, though,” Chen rebuffed. 

“Hey,” Miller shot her a look of incredulity, “he’s obviously swamped with, y’know, dude stuff.” 

“Uh huh,” Chen said, without missing a beat, “like kissing his car goodnight and drinking alone to  _ Friends  _ reruns. The real nitty-gritty of life.” 

Miller snickered into his glass and Chen slapped him with her clutch, admonishing her friend with lighthearted accusations of betrayal. RK900 watched. The admission recontextualized some aspects of his partner, but did little to provide insight into the greater Gavin Reed. It just sounded like the detective’s mid-life crisis had jumped the gun by twenty years. 

“What about you?” Miller nodded to the android. “Got any leads?” 

“Should I?” RK900 asked, cocking his head to the side. “The detective doesn’t divulge anything about his personal life.” 

“Coulda fooled me!” Miller giggled and downed the rest of his drink. “And here I thought you two were all buddy-buddy.” 

_ “Chris!”  _ Chen hissed. 

“Reed’s very private outside of his day to day outbursts,” RK900 volunteered, “he mostly complains to me about people driving the speed limit.” He dangled the words, like bait, hoping one or both of his coworkers would jump. They didn’t. 

The night wore on, in a stream of sensory explosion. Alcohol flowed, cameras flashed, and people poured into the venue. RK900 perched at the overhang, watching everyone, collating data. His party had shifted their conversation towards inside jokes and old memories—things the android couldn’t navigate. 

Someone tapped RK900’s shoulder. Chen. He didn’t need to test her blood alcohol level to know she was drunk. 

“Let’s take a pic together!” Chen said, “we can send it to Gav and make him jealous!” 

“Is that your advice as my wingman?” RK900 asked, only half-joking. 

“No,” Chen said smoothly. 

She held up her phone, and posed next to the android. When he didn’t smile, Chen batted him with the back of her hand, and insisted on a do-over. RK900 relented, presenting the barest hint of a smirk. 

“Annnnnnd  _ sent!”  _ Chen cheered. She locked eyes with the android. “My advice, as your esteemed wingman, is get that cute bartender’s number.” 

RK900 rolled his eyes. 

“That way, you’ll have a backup plan,” Chen added, “since you’re soooo dead set on playing hard mode  _ elsewhere.”  _

”Excuse me?” RK900 blurted, caught completely off guard. 

Chen smirked, and shoved her cellphone into the depths of her sequined clutch. She sauntered away, to join Miller, who joked loudly about video games with a group of relative strangers. RK900 spun and gripped the brass rail of the overhang. In retrospect, maybe it  _ was  _ that obvious. RK900 had tried to hide his feelings for Reed, to bottle them deep inside, but clearly he’d been doing a subpar job. 

Below, the bartender materialized. He glanced in RK900’s direction, and gave a small wave. Calculations clashed with the android’s thoughts, offering him chance outlooks into new paths.  _ Jeremy Jameson; Thirty; No criminal record; Recent graduate of University of Michigan.  _ A quick scroll through the human’s social media put him in the low risk category for drama or strife. By all accounts, Jameson would make an ideal, if slightly boring partner. His rational mind agreed with Chen’s advice, but, ultimately, his heart won the argument. 

RK900 walked away from the overlook. 

_ I don’t want some bartender or a contingency plan,  _ he thought,  _ I want Gavin Reed.  _

—

Reed stiffened, whimpering garbled nonsense into RK900’s shoulder. Teeth closed around artificial skin, displacing nanites but causing no actual damage. The android gave a hard thrust, and Reed’s grip grew tighter as he slipped up and down dusty drywall. 

Heat squeezed every inch of RK900–molten velvet molding to his shape. Reed’s hole gripped RK900, fighting to keep his dick burrowed deep in the human’s guts. But the android pulled out until only the tip remained buried in that swollen opening. Reed kicked RK900 with his heels, urging the android onwards—his human heart beating out of his chest. 

Words poured out of Reed—curses, threats, and pleas alike. When Reed had reached his breaking point, RK900 slammed his cock back inside, to the hilt, with a loud squelch. Reed howled, clawing at RK900’s shirt and tearing it in two places. 

RK900 brutally skewered Reed on his cock with thrust after punishing thrust. The human came with a cry, spilling warmth across RK900’s abdomen. Reed fell limp in his arms, moaning softly. 

RK900 didn’t stop. He continued to chase the soft pink horizon brimming along the edge of his vision. Reed squeaked, shifting and tugging, fighting an internal battle over whether or not he wanted more. His insides constricted around RK900’s cock like a burning vice, and the android fell over the precipice. 

Colors cascaded across RK900’s nervous system, lighting his spine on fire. He cried out, grinding into Reed and filling the human with his release. The world phased into static. 

The android took a deep breath as his systems came back online, and reluctantly withdrew from the hot clutch of Reed’s body. Cloudy blue liquid spilled out of the detective’s swollen, pink rim, mixing with oil stains on the smooth concrete floor. Reed sighed against RK900’s neck, still trembling from his orgasm. 

RK900 disentangled Reed’s limbs, and helped the human to his feet. Reed leaned into the android’s chest, nuzzling soft cotton. 

“God,” Reed exhaled, “I needed that.” 

RK900 nodded in agreement, his systems cycling back to their optimal settings. He separated from Reed, and took a Thirium pouch out of the loud mini fridge whirring in the corner.  _ Mango  _ was printed along the aluminum in bright orange and yellow. The flavor meant nothing to RK900—he had no concept of a proper mango’s taste, but Reed claimed it made his ejaculate more flavorful.

Reed joined the android, plopping on top of the little fridge. Its soft hum swelled in decibel—a groan of pain towards the grown human using it as a perch. Reed winced, plucking a can of PBR from within. He remained shirtless, donning only a pair of old boxers. Milky stripes splattered his abs, and soft blue smeared his thigh, but he seemed unbothered. RK900 reached out, wiping away some of it with a paper napkin he found on the floor. Reed failed to register the gesture. 

Golden rays cut through the small, grime encrusted windows, staining the side of Reed’s face in honeyed gold. RK900 thought about how the detective would have looked in the dance club, draped in neon pinks and blues, instead. 

“What?” Gavin shattered the reverie. “I got somethin’ on my face?”

“Just your scar.” 

Reed mumbled something into his can, cheeks and ears glowing pink. 

“Was it an accident?” RK900 asked. He opted to push his luck. 

“What d’you care?” Reed lowered his can, placing it between his thighs. Condensation weeped from the metal can, mixing with a medley of fluids. He frowned, lips upturning into a sneer. 

“Curiosity,” RK900 said.  _ I wish to know more about you—anything.  _ He pursed his lips, nursing what was left of the Thririum. 

“Well,” Gavin groused, “you know what they say about curiosity.” He stood, cracking his back. Another trickle of blue raced from under his boxers. It stoked something feral in RK900. 

“What if I don’t?” RK900 asked. 

Reed scratched his chest, fingers raking against waxed, sun kissed skin. He sniffed, looking towards the bright lines of the garage’s side door—an exit plan, most likely. RK900 frowned, angry at the prospect of being ignored again. 

The android began to wonder if this whole thing wasn’t a lost cause—a side project with the promise of physical fulfillment, but nothing more. A wasted effort. There was little RK900 hated more than waste.

Reed shuffled towards his workbench, and slipped on a pair of worn workout sweats. He wiped the semen from his torso with an oily rag, humming a tune under his breath. A clear message—their weekly rendezvous was complete. 

Unacceptable. 

“Reed,” RK900 shouted. 

Startled, the human turned to look, cigarette already precariously dangling between his full lips. 

“Yeah, Nines?” His tone was caustic, eyebrow cocked, as if the android’s continued presence was somehow a nuisance. 

“Never mind,” RK900 hissed. He shoved past Reed, exiting the garage. He walked the length of the driveway, and sat on the curb. Anger bubbled, alongside hurt and a million different emotions he couldn’t contain. He turned his focus outwards, to a group of adults hurling bean bags at slanted, wooden boards. 

Hands met hands. High-fives commenced, as did hugs and kisses. 

_ Is that what I want?  _ RK900 glanced from where he’d bracketed his cheeks between his fists. He thought of the bartender and Chen’s not-so-subtle warning.  _ Why won’t he open up to me?  _ The android tapped into his preconstructive suite, running scenario after scenario to predict a motive for Reed’s behavior. It returned nothing concrete, not that RK900 expected it to. 

Upset, he decided to preconstruct the winner of the yard game. He sighed, projecting a thousand bean bag tosses, until he realized he should have approached the bartender. The likelihood of cracking Reed’s emotional wall was slender—outlier territory. The percentiles had leaned heavily in the bartender’s favor. 

A taxi turned down Reed’s street, and RK900 stood, preparing to enter. He glanced back at the bean bag tossers and paused. His projected winner had lost, and the girl with a single percent chance of victory had won—if her screaming and gallivanting was anything to go by. RK900 puzzled over his calculations, unsure how he could’ve been so far off base. The taxi dinged, but RK900 ignored it—fixated. 

Probabilities were such that even the unlikely wasn’t impossible. All it took was one outlier—a single percentage point. 

RK900 could  _ be  _ that outlier. 

RK900 rubbed his chin and glanced at Reed’s house. The taxi was in the past. RK900 made his choice. With a single command, the vehicle reversed course, its cabin empty. 

He marched to Reed’s front door. The porch was worn, creaking under the android’s light steps, but the door frame looked new—finished and sanded wood, waiting for a fresh coat of paint. Tools and paintbrushes littered the porch swing. It swayed, chains creaking softly in the wind. 

As he pressed the doorbell, it occurred to RK900 that he’d never seen the inside of Reed’s home, only the garage. A chime reverberated within the house, but RK900 heard no voices or footsteps. He pressed the button a second time, but still no sign of Reed. 

Frustration welled in the android’s chest—a toxic green that tainted the receptors along the back of his tongue. He didn’t want to break into the house, nor did he have any desire to linger on the detective’s porch. 

“If I were Gavin Reed, what would compel me to leave my hiding place…?” RK900 tapped his chin, and caught sight of a sliver of metallic orange. He smiled. 

The Camaro sat in its designated spot, resting under the sway of dogwood branches. RK900 dragged a fingertip along the brilliant tangerine paint, and opened the driver’s side door. The warm smell of leather filled his nostrils. RK900 took a moment to admire the cleanliness of the interior, then placed his hand on the center of the steering wheel. 

A blaring honk tore through the neighborhood’s ambience. Within seconds, RK900 heard a door, followed by the frantic slap of bare feet on stone. Reed dashed in front of the Camaro, brandishing a metal bat. Water droplets coursed from his hair, down to his ill fitting basketball shorts. RK900 eased off the horn, and gently closed the car door. 

“What the  _ fuck,  _ man!” Reed yelled. He dropped the bat and ran a hand through his sopping wet hair. “I’d have bashed your head in! You get that, right? I thought you were some fucker trying to steal my... _ god!”  _

“You didn’t answer the door,” RK900 said, cool as a cucumber, “so, I improvised.” 

Reed curled into a ball, frantically rubbing his hair back and forth, turning it into a mess of reddish-brown tufts. It wasn’t the response RK900 anticipated, but expectation implied the android had context for the human’s myriad of idiosyncrasies. 

“Nines, the fuck’re you still here for?” Reed looked up, venom in his glare. 

“Why won’t you answer your door?” RK900 asked, squatting in front of the human. 

“I asked first,” Reed hissed.

“And I’ve been asking for weeks,” RK900 responded, a soft edge to his voice. 

Reed froze in place, expression no less volatile. The android crossed his arms, resting his face against a shoulder. 

“I was takin’ a goddamn shower.” 

“This isn’t—I’m not—you don’t,” RK900 stopped and gritted his teeth. He took a moment to compose himself, and broke down his thought process in terms even Reed couldn’t purposely misjudge. “Reed, the door’s a metaphor. It’s always been a metaphor.” 

“You’re an obtuse motherfucker, you know that?” Reed said, lowering his voice. He narrowed his eyes, and glanced off to the side. “God, I need a cigarette...” 

Reed’s nervous ticks manifested in full decorum—the sniffs, the scratches, and the little bounce. His back was against the wall, but showed no sign of a fight. A simple exhale told RK900 this was a resignation. 

“What are we, Reed?” RK900 asked. There was no reason to beat around the bush. “What is this thing we do with one another?” 

Olive eyes snapped to the android, and Reed worried his bottom lip. He said nothing—a rarity and a shame. This was one of the few instances where one the detective’s outbursts would be welcome. 

“I’ve little context for where we stand,” RK900 continued, poking Reed’s psyche for an answer of some kind. 

“Christ,” Reed mumbled. He dragged a hand along his face, tugging at his skin. “I mean...we’re fuckbuddies, yeah?” 

_ Fuckbuddies?  _ An all too frequent mainstay of the reality television shows RK900 devoured. It had always been the simplest answer for his relations with Reed, and, at one point, RK900 would have accepted it. But now? A tsunami of novel sensations slammed the android.  _ I feel…I feel,  _ he grasped for a word, but it wouldn’t come. 

A single sniffle. 

“I see,” RK900 responded, “I suppose I should have...Well, it’s irrelevant, now.” 

A series of metallic clangs sliced through the tense air. The baseball bat rolled along the driveway, smacking into the Camaro’s driver side wheel. RK900 traced its path, and when he looked up, Reed had waddled a few steps closer to his partner. 

“What, um...so, what’d you think we were?” Reed asked. His tone held no evidence of malice or sarcasm. 

One hundred different responses clambered to the forefront of RK900’s mind, but he opted for a different route. He gained nothing from telling Reed what he wanted, unless Reed was willing to lower his defenses. 

“How’d you get your scar?” 

“The hell’s that got to do with any of this?” Reed held out his arm, nearly knocking himself off balance. 

“Everything,” RK900 said softly. 

Reed grimaced and hopped towards his car. He grabbed his bat and used it to prop himself into a standing position. He stood, back to RK900, and lightly slapped the bat against his palm, eyes locked on his Camaro. Reed placed a hand on the driver side window, and sighed. 

“Me and my old man spent months rebuilding her from...well,  _ scratch  _ is putting it nicely.” Reed’s voice softened. “She was supposed to be a turning point, or whatever shrinks fuckin’ call that kumbaya breakthrough shit—a step forward, y’know? And now…” 

The human’s hand slid off the window, leaving behind a light imprint of condensation. It dissipated in the warm breeze, but RK900’s synthetic eyes could still detect the unique ridges of Reed’s fingers and palm. 

“Now she is what she is. ‘Cause I fucked up.” Reed stared hard at his car, and crossed his arms over his bare chest. His fingernails left a light trail of red where they worried at his biceps. “Point is: You got me. There’s more to owning this bitch than her good looks.” 

Olive met ice blue—a pleading look nested deep in Reed’s gaze. RK900 remained coiled in his ball, heels pressed to the sloped concrete. Wind rustled his dark curls as he dwelled on a glut of new information. Possibilities streamed through his brain, twisting into long lines of logic. 

“Something occurred between you and your father,” RK900 said. 

“God,” Reed snorted, holding his hand out towards the android “a billion dollars, ladies and gentlemen, and that’s  _ all _ you got? Jesus Christ.”

“Obtaining specifics would require me to break into personal devices,” RK900 snapped.

“Like that’s ever stopped you before.” 

“Or I could glean the information from a first party source.” RK900 stared at Reed— _ through  _ Reed, if he were being honest. 

Reed tossed the bat into the air. It spun once and he caught the handle, nearly scraping the side mirror of his car. He hummed a tune, assuming a batter’s stance, and began to imitate swings. The tip whooshed past the edge of fiery orange time and time again. Then, Reed shifted position, swinging on a down stroke, the Camaro’s roof square in the center of his trajectory. 

“Tell me what happened, Reed.” 

The bat stopped just shy of the vehicle. RK900 watched the air displace across steel in pastel blue ripples. Smoke and mirrors. Reed never intended to hit his car in the same way he never intended to have this conversation. The human tapped the bat on his shoulder and stepped away from his precious Camaro. 

“We got into a fight.” Reed shrugged, acting as if this were the most casual conversation in the world, and he hadn’t just threatened to destroy his car. “And I stopped answering his calls.” 

“Why?” RK900 asked, “did he attack you in some way?” 

“What?” Gavin shouted in surprise, “fuck, man—god no! Dad ain’t like that!” 

RK900 opened his mouth to respond, but Reed prodded the android’s cheek with the business end of his bat. Agitated, RK900 ripped it from Reed’s grip, denting the weak aluminum in five places. Reed smiled his lopsided smile. 

“I mean, it’s like,” Reed said, “sometimes you get mad, right? And you’re like ‘I didn’t do shit, man.’ And, yeah, you probably did, but you can’t just put  _ it  _ aside.” 

“Why not?” RK900 asked, twisting the bat into a quaint pretzel. “All you need to do is reach out to the other party—your father in this case—and explain the misunderstanding.” 

“It’s not...I dunno how to explain,” Reed said, exasperated. He kicked the pretzel-bat into the open garage, where it bounced against both the floor and his junky Ford, with a resounding  _ thunk.  _

Reed crossed his arms with a tight squeeze, growing more and more diminutive. He didn’t look at the android, but instead to his Camaro, with its glittering orange planes and smooth curves. 

“Maybe I just don’t feel worthy, man—I dunno.” Reed shook his head, shaggy tufts twisting in the wind. 

An uneasy silence followed, swelling into a deafening roar. The two men remained in close physical proximity, but their minds ferried to far flung places. RK900 had convinced himself a true breakthrough with Reed would take the form of cracking the man open, but now that he’d had a taste, the android was woefully unprepared. Then again, maybe it wasn’t his place to hold Reed’s hand. RK900 was designed to solve problems, but not all problems were designed to be solved. Some solutions could only be achieved through slow, methodical progression—if at all. 

Relationships weren’t a matter of instant gratification. They were constructed—minute by minute; interaction by interaction. RK900’s social protocols, on the other hand, were rooted in manipulation—short terms gains at the expense of long term satisfaction. But he wanted something genuine, to be a true romantic partner. Trust, in so many words. Trust to be given and trust to be shared. 

The android finally recognized the subtext in Connor’s words: RK900 wanted Reed, but there was no sure fire, organic way to guarantee Reed wanted him back. 

That wouldn’t stop him from trying. 

“I’ve developed feelings for you, Reed.” RK900 stared at his partner. 

Reed scratched the skin below his navel, where dark follicles congregated. He didn’t outwardly respond, choosing instead to pat his ass in the same place he usually kept his package of cigarettes. 

“I’m very much out of my depth,” RK900 confessed, “and perhaps I’ve been misreading the room, but—” 

Reed extended a hand to the android. RK900 stared at it—tracing familiar ridges, calluses, moles, and a scar. The human’s gaze didn’t waver from his backyard and he continued to reach for the cigarettes that weren’t there. 

“You wanna come inside, Nines?” Reed finally met the android’s eyes—muted green a stormy enigma. 

The hand wavered a touch, beginning to grow lax, but RK900 slid his fingers around Reed’s. His partner’s skin felt both familiar and new as it brushed against the hyper-concentrated sensors along RK900’s digits. Reed pulled, dragging RK900 into a standing position. The android dutifully followed the detective through his ample but empty backyard. Reed paused in front of his basement door. 

“It’s Gavin, by the way,” Reed said, hand bracketing the doorknob. “You can just call me Gavin or Gav.” 

RK900 smiled and nodded, following Gavin inside. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for another round of shameless smut 
> 
> @Vapedrone


	5. Chapter 5

_**March 2039** _

_Is this the beginning of something?_ RK900 wondered, staring at the paper file laid out before him. Neat. Tidy. Official. Seals decorated the correspondence. They promised an air of importance, and extended it to RKK900, in turn.

The first step in a new life. RK900 had been locked inside the bustling hallways of CyberLife tower for a few months now, biding his time in front of a parade of AI psychologists. They bombarded him with existential questions, trying to determine an ideal career placement—one suited to his tastes.

RK900 threaded his fingers together, setting them on top of the extensive paperwork. The two men seated across from him had impeccable suits and ties, their stoic expressions matching down to the purse of their thin lips. An American flag pin sat on the left lapel of their jackets, resting directly over their hearts.

“I think you’ll find the compensation and relocation plan more than adequate,” said Agent A. The man had a name, but RK900 hadn’t bothered to learn it. “You’ll move up the ranks quickly, no doubt.”

“Most likely,” RK900 hummed. He studied the men, building a picture of Agent A and Agent B. They were ghosts—non-entities with a net-zero digital trail. Faceless cogs in an exacting machine.

“What’s your name, son?” asked Agent B.

_Llewyn. Andy. Sasha. Viktor._ The names of his fellow RK900s flashed through his mind. All four were quickly courted and snatched by intelligence agencies across the globe, fulfilling the foundation of their programming.

_Which just leaves me._

“RK900,” said the android, closing his folder, “it’s RK900.”

“I mean a _real_ name, kid,” Agent B demanded, lip twitching.

“What my colleague is trying to say,” Agent A interjected, “is have you chosen a more... _colloquial_ name?”

RK900 studied the humans seated across the table, cataloging the subtle shifts in their biometric expression. He thought back to the corporate types who’d been so eager to meet him, only to whisper, _bad optics on that one...not a team player,_ after he’d rejected their pitch. _The RK800 in IT is way more charming. Thought this one was supposed to be better._

“I appreciate your offer, gentlemen,” said RK900, his voice a dagger’s edge, “and I appreciate that you, unlike the last batch of federal stooges to approach me, didn’t tell me I was _required_ to take your offer by virtue of having a hand in my development.”

The two men blustered, jumping to their feet and readying their words of protest.

“But I’ve already accepted a competing offer elsewhere.” RK900 pushed the folder across the table and adjusted his tie. “I’m not interested in pursuing a career as a spy. There’s too much of life I’d still like to experience.”

RK900 walked around the table and shook each man’s hand, bidding them well wishes. With a flick of his mind, he sent off the requisite paperwork to the local police department, confident they wouldn’t turn down a model like his. The android exited the room, eagerly awaiting confirmation of his new detective position, and hoping it would afford him the freedoms he so craved.

_**September 2039** _

Pressure built in the center of RK900’s chest, threatening to erupt with each _tap, tap, tap_ of Gavin’s ankle against the side of the couch. He watched the human, leg half draped over the leather arm, basketball shorts dipping so far past his hips as to be obscene. Gavin sipped his beer, conscious in his efforts to pay RK900 no mind.

They’d established something, this afternoon, but still, Gavin sat at the far end of the couch, leaving dead space between them. RK900 fought the urge to pace, under the pretense of exploration, but what he’d seen of the house, so far, made it feel barren—a place trapped in perpetual limbo. An endless work in progress, like its owner.

“Detective.”

“Don’t call me that in my own goddamned house,” Gavin snapped.

_“Gavin,”_ RK900 revised, tasting the man’s name on his tongue.

Gavin crushed his beer can and tossed it on the barren coffee table. Empty. So empty, like the living room with its scant furniture and the finished basement, with its endless tile. How long had Gavin owned this home? How did someone burgeoning with so much personality live in a place with none?

“Did you wanna ask me something?” Gavin slung an arm behind the couch. “Or you just like saying my name every ten minutes?”

“Isn’t it customary to take someone on a tour of one’s home?” RK900 hinted.

Gavin looked down his nose at RK900, aloof and unbothered, despite the increased friction between his ankle and the couch arm’s navy leather.

“It’s under construction,” he groused, “lotta shit needs replaced.”

“You seem to have an affinity for buying broken things,” said RK900.

A car flew from one skyscraper to the next, in a flash of _5K_ pixels, washing the room in dewey, golden light. It highlighted rough patches of Bondo and plaster, and the missing slots of crown molding that contoured the ceiling.

“Runs in the family, I guess.” Gavin shrugged. “‘Sides, what good’s a man who can’t sand and stain his own fuckin’ floor.”

“Do you doubt your masculinity?” RK900 asked wryly.

“No,” Gavin scoffed, with a smirk, “I just hate gettin’ ripped off by shady contractors.”

Something exploded on screen. It painted the room an acrid orange, making the sunken purple under Gavin’s eyes all the more evident. The pallor of his skin had improved in recent weeks, but not by much.

RK900 halved the gap, and reached for his partner’s face. His thumb brushed the sagging skin and the rudimentary crinkles at the crooks of muted green eyes. Gavin stilled under RK900’s touch. A soothing blue filled the room, quiet turquoise ebbing in small sickles. On screen, someone began to drown.

It was different, touching Gavin like this. RK900 soaked in the prickle of stubble, the uncanny smoothness of the nose scar, the rough, hot bump of an ingrown hair at the junction of Gavin’s neck and jaw. His sensory array catalogued it all, right down to the molecular composition of the oils seeping from the man’s skin.

“I don’t understand you, Gavin,” RK900 murmured, fingers drifting to the human’s collar bone, “or these projects of yours. You put yourself in situations to maximize social and physical stimulation, yet push away others. Why?”

Gavin’s heart thumped under the android’s palm. He gently took hold of RK900’s wrist as lightning flashed across the giant screen, generating a burst of acid blue. Gavin withdrew his swaying ankle, and tucked it under his body. He leaned in close to RK900, nose touching nose.

“I ain’t gotta explain myself.”

“You don’t.” RK900 cupped the back of Gavin’s neck. “But I’m also not obligated to stop seeking an answer.”

“The fuck do you care so much for?” asked Gavin. A whisper. He brought his hand to RK900’s cheek.

RK900 pressed their foreheads together, leaving their mouths a hair’s breadth apart. Cherry red light stained their skin, the movie’s antics all but forgotten. The world shrank down to just the two of them, face to face, on Gavin’s couch, in his poor excuse for a man cave.

“I have my reasons, just as you have yours,” offered RK900.

Their lips met—RK900’s first kiss. Gavin’s movements were exploratory, pressing gently against the android’s mouth. He cradled the back of RK900’s head, fingers rubbing circles into the short hairs there. There was a fragility in his pace—a timidness RK900 rarely saw in the man.

_This is what he’s afraid of._

RK900 dug his fingernails into Gavin’s left pectoral, leaving a circle of crescent divots around the human’s heart. Gavin pulled back, taking the android’s chin in hand, thumb rubbing the edge of his partner’s mouth.

Purple light flushed Gavin, and leather creaked under the transition of his weight. His eyes remained glued to RK900’s. Booms, shrieks of metal against metal, and explosive voices rattled through the surround sound. But in the end, there was only Gavin—an unpolished opal encased in hard stone.

“Tina sent me that pic of you from the other night,” Gavin murmured. He boxed RK900 with his other arm and pressed their faces together. “A couple of ‘em actually.”

RK900 didn’t want to discuss the night club. He wanted another kiss, and the reassurance that this situation didn’t reset the moment he walked out Gavin’s front door.

“You could have joined us,” said the android.

“Yeah,” said Gavin, “I could’ve. But there’ll always be more clubs, _and_ more chances for me to see you in indecent shirts.”

Teal bloomed across the android’s cheeks, and his mouth twisted into a wry smile. The air shifted—tension’s claustrophobic grasp dissolving at long last. RK900 felt it along his billions of artificial sensors, and in the delicate way Gavin embraced him—close, but far enough to pull away, if the mood struck.

“Y’know,” Gavin sighed, hesitantly shifting, “this really isn’t my, uh, _forte.”_

“Nor mine.” RK900 grabbed the human, drew him closer. “As with your home improvement project, some things are better explored _together.”_

“God,” Gavin snorted, “that’s the worst pick up line I’ve ever heard.”

_Maybe._

It was bad, but it was also genuine. RK900 hadn’t wasted precious time and brainpower discerning the best possible response in the moment. He just said the first thing that came to mind—uninhibited by numbers or relativities. It worked, judging by Gavin’s toothy grin.

RK900 pulled him into another kiss—kinetic, this time. Gavin took to it naturally, scrambling to grab the android’s thigh and his back, anything he could touch. It grew frantic—teeth clashing and tongues intertwining.

New feelings swelled within RK900. Arousal, yes; but also a prickling sense of elation. It fed into the base of his skull, washing across his scalp in pale pinks and blues. He fell back onto the couch, dragging Gavin with him.

Gavin came up for air, and RK900 grabbed him by the jaw. He squeezed, with the exact amount of pressure _his_ human liked, pleased at the debauched swell to Gavin’s lips. The detective flashed his teeth with a volatile grin, egging on his partner.

“I want you,” he hummed, “and not just as a dick appointment on Sundays.”

“That’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” Gavin chuckled, eyes growing dark.

A lonely sunbeam waned in the adjacent room, heralding the end of the day. RK900 ran a hand down Gavin’s body, each scar and blemish a brief detour. Gavin had never let RK900 touch him like this before—too eager to get off and too frightened to lower his guard. But now he preened, kissing the android again, making the couch groan with every movement.

His hand slid up RK900’s thigh, and Gavin asked, “you wanna stick around tonight?”

RK900’s spy grade hearing detected the tremble in Gavin’s voice, the anticipated resignation—the need to put himself out there, but the sheer reluctance to do so. The android smiled, bracketing Gavin’s face with his hands. He nodded.

They rearranged themselves on the couch. Gavin no longer hid on the far end. He slid behind RK900, cinching his arms around the android, a leg casually thrown over RK900’s side. Warmth settled deep in the android’s belly. It meshed with the heat of the human body pressed to his back—a comforting sensation. One RK900 wanted to chase to the ends of the earth.

—

Gavin’s room smelled of him—his scent baked into every aspect of the space, from the tired grey walls to the smattering of clothes scattered across the floor. RK900 walked past the unmade bed and reached for a framed photograph sitting on top of Gavin’s cluttered dresser. In it, stood an adult man, who looked almost identical to Gavin, with a child perched on his shoulders. The other two children stood on either side of a lovely woman harboring an intense expression.

“You have brothers,” RK900 remarked.

“Yup,” Gavin said, voice terse.

“You don’t like them?”

“They’re assholes.” Gavin shrugged. “Everyone thinks _I’m_ bad, but they’ve never spent five minutes in the same room as Grant or George.”

“I also find my _brother_ to be a handful,” RK900 lamented, “it’s strange to me that he wanted a sibling. We had no rapport prior to my arrival at the station.”

RK900 placed the photograph onto the dresser, ensuring it remained lovingly nestled on top of a hole filled sock. He glanced to the disheveled bed, and caught sight of a pair of boxers peeking out from under the mattress. It settled something in him, reminding him of the Gavin he’d always known—a scruffy man, kind of messy, but sharper than a tack, when it counted.

“Connor gets off on that family shit,” Gavin muttered, kicking the boxers under the bed, “you can tell he’s chomping at the bits to get married—real white picket fence, PTA dad shit. You were just an easy mark.”

“It could be worse.” RK900 shrugged and plopped onto Gavin’s bed with a small bounce.

“Yeah?” asked Gavin. He paused at the foot, shorts sagging further on his sharp hips, exposing the hard lines of his lower abdomen.

“Absolutely,” said RK900, “I could have no one. A nosy, infuriating sibling is better than being alone.”

“It’s different when you don’t grow up together.”

RK900 considered Gavin’s words—the implied tensions between the man and his siblings. The potential dynamics of aging alongside someone piqued his interest, gripped him, even. It seemed, to RK900, that forced proximity should inevitably broker peace or compromise.

“Do you love your brothers?” asked RK900, “I’ve determined you feel remorse for cutting off communication with your father, but you seem to feel differently about them.”

“You love yours?” Gavin snapped, defensively.

A beat. RK900 had clearly struck some kind of nerve.

“I appreciate Connor,” said RK900, “but he can’t decide which role in my life he wishes to play: brother, father, or best friend. I find it confusing at best and infantilizing at worst.”

Gavin grabbed the picture and stroked it with his thumbs, mind lost to the moment. RK900 watched the intensity build in the man’s gaze and also the emergence of his ass crack from the loose shorts. RK900 scooted to the head of the bed, and spread his legs wide.Then, cleared his throat, prompting Gavin to turn and fumble, nearly losing the photograph to gravity.

“Just so you know, my, erm— _fuck!”_ Gavin scrambled to place the photo back in its place, licking his lips. “My asshole can’t take another pounding like that tonight. I might, uh, actually break, Nines.”

“What if yours isn’t the ass being destroyed?” RK900 cocked an eyebrow, letting his fingers casually cup the emerging swell of his dick.

RK900 had never bothered to explore his erogenous zones. He couldn’t justify the need, despite nightly replays of his encounters with Gavin. The android would just lay in bed and stare at his cock, wishing it were nestled within a certain someone. Sexual experimentation always seemed so secondary to every other aspect of the android’s life, and losing himself wasn’t something he could reconcile by means of his left hand.

Now, however, RK900 _wasn’t_ alone.

“You—You’re serious,” Gavin asked, incredulous, “you’ll lemme wreck that tight ass of yours?”

RK900 nodded, sliding his hands under his waistband to squeeze the base of his cock. He groaned softly, and Gavin crawled up the bed to join him. The android eyed the swell of Gavin’s dick through the ample slit in his shorts, spine tingling at the thought of it sitting hot and heavy inside him. RK900 greedily took it in hand, imagining the thick girth filling his guts and stretching his hole nice and wide.

—

“You sure about this, Nines?”

_Klink._ RK900 tested the cold steel slotted around his wrists. It dug into the meat of his back, which, while uncomfortable, didn’t inflict any actual damage. For that matter, the handcuffs binding him were completely ornamental. He could crumple them like a ball, but that wasn’t the point.

“Believe me,” said RK900, “they’re only a minor deterrent.”

Gavin stood between the android’s legs, mesmerized by the thick cock flopping against RK900’s thighs. A crazed hunger twinkled in his eye, and RK900 thought Gavin might disregard the entire setup and impale himself once more, regardless of his earlier claims. Anticipation weighed on RK900’s chest, his dick sluggishly filling with each beat of his Thirium pump. Gavin moved in slow motion, slipping out of his ill fitting shorts to reveal a heavy cock bobbing at half-mast. It had a metal circlet of its own, holding steadfast at its base. He scrambled to perch on RK900’s clavicle.

“Always wondered how that mouth of yours would feel,” cooed Gavin. He stroked RK900’s dark curls and paused to admire a ringlet. “God...you’re, like, stupid pretty.”

“Charming,” said RK900.

Cock in hand, Gavin admonished RK900 with a playful slap to the cheek, then slotted his pink tip on the android’s lower lip. A clear bead pooled at its opening. RK900 licked it, reveling in the salty taste. He swirled his tongue around the head, and swallowed as much of Gavin as he could reach, pausing only to indulge the way the cock flexed on the sensors of his tongue.

“Oh—fuck me,” Gavin hummed, “you were _made_ to suck cock.”

An icy blue glare.

RK900 bobbed along the velvet length, lapping at the molten thickness swelling with every pulse of Gavin’s heart. He dipped his tongue under the foreskin, the rough texture massaging the sensitive glans, and drawing a guttural groan from the human.

Hands twisted into RK900’s mess of curls, and Gavin plunged his cock to the hilt, balls slapping the android’s chin. Hard and fat, it filled RK900’s narrow esophagus, ramming every delicate array along the way. He moaned around the intrusion.

“You like that?” Gavin murmured. He brushed RK900’s throat with his fingers, stroking the slight bulge there. “You get off on this, don’t you? CyberLife’s number one robot likes being used as a cocksleeve. Who’d have thunk?”

RK900 didn’t bother to contradict Gavin, content to let the detective run his filthy mouth. He focused, instead, on the sharp colors zipping across the matrix of his nerves—a soothing sensation, even as the blunt tip rammed the back of RK900’s mouth again and again. He tightened the muscles of his throat, chasing that high, but it was short lived.

“Shit!” Gavin exclaimed, ripping his cock from RK900’s mouth. A thick strand of blueish cleaning solution clung to the ruddy head, linking it to purpled lips. “Warn a man before you pull that kinda shit!”

“I was enjoying myself.” The android pouted.

“Not all of us got robot stamina! Christ!” exclaimed Gavin.

“Isn’t that what the ring is for?” asked RK900, annoyed at being denied his wants.

“Cock rings weren’t made with this kinda robo-bullshit in mind!” Gavin wheezed.

“You’re being dramatic, Gavin,” said RK900, eyeing the mushroom tip and its small spurt of clear liquid. “You came twice today already.”

“Nines.” Gavin rolled off the bed, cock bouncing obscenely between his legs. “I...you got no idea what a sight like _this_ does to a man.”

He gestured to the android—legs wide, t-shirt bunched under his armpits, pastel pink nipples erect. Gavin ran a finger through the cloudy blue pool on RK900’s stomach, from where his massive cock drooled.

“Look, I gotta wreck that virgin ass of yours, and it’ll be a no go if you suck my soul out, through my dick.”

Gavin took RK900’s knees in hand and spread them wider, exposing the android’s quivering asshole to chilled air. RK900 squirmed, dick oozing precome at the thought of being at Gavin’s mercy. Teal crept up his chest, coloring his pale skin.

“Really?” Gavin sighed, cheeks turning beet red. “This is…why is it—”

“Is there an issue?” interrupted RK900.

“Nines,” Gavin groaned, running his hand over his face, “why the _fuck_ is it blue?”

RK900 blinked, realizing the _exact_ question Gavin had asked.

“I—why wouldn’t it be?” He questioned, “my internal musculature is blue, as is my cock.”

“This is a goddamn crime,” Gavin cried, cushioning his head against a pale thigh.

“The _only_ crime _here_ is your refusal to do as you promised,” RK900 huffed, poking the detective’s face with his toes.

Gavin rolled his eyes, and began to nibble the nanite skin of RK900’s inner thigh, hot tongue sliding across groin muscles. Featherlight lips pressed to RK900’s rim, setting off a thermite reaction at the base of his spine. The android gasped, back arching of its own accord. He shuddered, the mild craving to be filled morphing into a gnawing pain with every minuscule ounce of pressure Gavin added. RK900 clamped down on emptiness, suffocating with desire.

“Jesus,” Gavin whispered, breathless, “you really need this _that_ bad, huh? Out here sluttin’ up before you’ve got anything inside you.”

“You’re one to talk, Reed,” RK900 shot back, razor sharp.

Gavin chuckled along RK900’s skin, and slid his tongue against the furled entrance. He licked and prodded the muscle, teasing it with soft laps. RK900 moaned, pushing back against Gavin’s ministrations, eager for so much more.

“What the hell!” Gavin shouted, jerking backwards. He rubbed the watery blue gel smeared on his lips, and slid the lubricating coolant between his fingers, examining it for some trace of betrayal. Then, he stared at RK900, slack jawed. “You’re honest to god wet for me, aren’t you, Nines?”

“I’m merely preparing my—” RK900 blushed, chewing his lower lip. He met Gavin’s gaze, defiance in his eye, and altered his tone. “Is that an issue, Gavin?”

“What? Hell no!”

He dove into RK900’s ass like a man parched, filling the air with grunts and lewd squelches. His wet tongue pressed into the crook between RK900’s cheeks, drawing around the entrance, in a tease, and sucking on his taint. After an agonizing eternity, it finally slid inside, just grazing the android’s inner walls. Another wave of lubricant oozed, amplifying all of Gavin’s filthy sounds tenfold.

“Need.” RK900 fought through soft moans, for an eloquent way to describe his wants, but failed. “More, Gavin. Need more.”

He panted as the slick tongue wriggled inside him, thinking he might go mad. A fingertip skirted the edge of his hole, gliding across lubricant with ease. It slipped in too, ripping a cry from the android. He clamped down, so thankful for something long and solid breaching him. It momentarily extinguished his hunger, but the urgent desire returned in full.

“Gavin,” RK900 said, breathless, “you can’t hurt me. It would take the likes of an armor piercing slug to penetrate my membranes.”

Gavin chuckled at the word, _penetrate,_ but his movements slowed to a crawl. The rational part of his brain must have caught up with its horny counterpart.

“Nines,” Gavin muttered into RK900’s ass, “can’t you just beg? Like a normal fuckin’ person?”

_“Gavin,”_ RK900 growled.

“Yeah, yeah. Close enough.” Gavin obliged, with an indignant sigh, as if RK900 couldn’t read his biometric data with keen precision. They both knew, at the end of the day, Gavin thrived on being told what to do and how to do it.

Three fingers plunged into RK900, stretching him wide enough to burn. He thought back to the way Gavin’s rim spread so deliciously on his own fingers—how pink and angry it became, the ever so slight gape, glistening with lube and inviting RK900 to enter. The android superimposed that imagery onto Gavin’s movements, envisioning how he must look strung out on the detective’s digits, as they brushed every delicate sensor built into his walls. RK900 whimpered, throwing his head to the side, eyes squeezed shut. He felt the myriad swirls on Gavin’s fingertips probing his velvet insides, being sucked deeper and deeper in search of something.

“That’s right,” Gavin cooed, moving faster, “we both know you’re a needy motherfucker.”

RK900 arched his back with a tempered cry, and shot Gavin a look that would eviscerate anyone else on the spot. Gavin groaned, reaching for himself with the hand not currently two knuckles deep in RK900’s guts. His fingers curled, sending a bolt of lighting through RK900’s nervous system. The android shouted, and Gavin stroked the little node, milking it until RK900’s cock was primed to burst. RK900 gritted his teeth, vision tunneling with the singularity of desire.

“Gavin, wait,” RK900 pleaded, trying and failing to maintain an air of authority. “Enough foreplay, I want to ride you.”

“Jesus,” Gavin said in awe, “never took you for the type _this_ desperate to get stuffed with cock, but here we are.” He halted, fingertip paused on RK900’s prostate.

“Oh, _I am,”_ said RK900, voice low and sharp—a shard of broken glass. He smirked at Gavin’s visible shiver. “Your cock, specifically.”

Gavin’s fingers slipped out, and RK900’s insides fluttered, clenching around nothing.

“Goddamn, you really know how to rile a man.” Gavin crawled on top of the android, and took a pale chin in hand. RK900 strained in his handcuffs, wishing he could touch back.

“And you sound like a bad porno,” RK900 teased, taking Gavin’s thumb into his mouth.

“That, uh, _not_ what this is?” Gavin asked, “I mean, you playing the seductive, on-call mechanic, and me playing the clueless homeowner?”

RK900 lightly bit Gavin’s thumb, and pulled off with a wet pop.

“Is that what you imagine when you touch yourself at night, Gavin?” RK900 fluttered his eyelashes.

Gavin smiled—not a mean smile or a particularly mischievous one. He cupped the android’s cheek, and studied RK900. A moment of soft hesitation the human rarely displayed, all for RK900.

“Maybe I’ll tell you sometime,” he said, voice hedging on timid.

—

Arms snaked around RK900—pulled him taut against the hard lines and curved flesh of Gavin’s torso. Four tiny metal points dug into his back muscles, and a fat cock superheated his artificial guts. Gavin’s breath was a hot wind on RK900’s neck, and his hand rubbed circles into the android’s abdomen, almost wistful they couldn’t feel the way Gavin spread him wide. His insides felt bloated, walls rippling around the intrusion, adjusting to the first and only dick he’d ever taken. Gavin wasn’t _that_ big—a bit longer than average, yes; and also thicker. Though, to RK900’s untouched insides, he might as well have been hung like a horse.

RK900’s head fell back on Gavin’s shoulder in an open mouthed sigh. The human’s hand drifted up, cupping one of RK900’s pecs and giving it a squeeze. RK900 leaned into the movement with a static groan.

“You feel amazing, Nines,” Gavin whispered, nibbling at the android’s jawline. He rolled his hips, giving the android’s prostate a languid rub. “You’ve got the tightest little ass I’ve ever fucked.”

“Android superiority,” said RK900.

“Asshole.” Gavin slid out a couple inches and shoved back in, hard. “Gonna love watching you fall apart on my dick.”

“No,” RK900 countered, “you’re going to be a good boy and service me while I milk your cock.”

“God,” Gavin groaned, “so fuckin’ hot...Gonna give me a fuckin’ heart attack by the end of this.”

RK900 felt the tremble of the human’s dick, sensors catching the spurt of precome that oozed from the tip. He began moving, in slow, agonizing ups and downs, pulling almost all the way off, before impaling himself in slow motion. Sighs and groans fell from his lips as he fed the itch at the base of his spine, channel fluttering around the diamond hard cock filling him over and over again. He slid along Gavin’s sweat slick front, and the human pawed at RK900’s chest, his stomach, his hips—anything his fingers could grab.

Gavin started to rock counter to RK900, meeting him with short thrusts and wet grunts. RK900 moved faster, bouncing in Gavin’s lap, hole a vice. Electronic warbles filled the room, increasing in tempo with the mounting ache in his balls.

_It’s not enough,_ he thought. Even as the blunt tip reamed his insides and punched his prostate, the greedy urge for more wrapped around him—a suffocating rope. He decided to take it a step further, recalling a little discovery from their first time together.

“Gavin,” RK900 moaned.

“I’m here,” Gavin grunted, “tell me what you need.”

“I need…” Speech was too taxing, but Gavin didn’t have a communications receptor in his skull. RK900 forced out the words. “I need you to remove my regulator.”

Gavin’s thrusts slowed, brain trying to keep pace with _exactly_ what RK900 had asked of him. Impatient, RK900 clenched his swollen rim around Gavin’s dick with the ferocity of a machine press, drawing the human back to reality.

“I—wha,” Gavin gasped, clawing RK900’s hips for dear life, “you, uh, you want me to _what?”_

“Remove my regulator,” RK900 instructed. He glanced down at his throbbing cock, and the clouded pool beneath it—such an angry blue. One that craved touch, but now wasn’t the time. “The walls of my chamber are incredibly sensitive. I...I want to explore the possibilities.”

“You want me to finger your goddamn heart?” asked Gavin. RK900 felt the rough outline of a grin on his shoulder, and a hard twitch in his ass. “Remind me, isn’t that kinda dangerous?”

“My model can function for exactly five minutes without one.” RK900 moaned—Gavin gave a few more lazy thrusts.

“You’re not worried I’ll get caught in the moment? Conveniently forget, maybe?” Gavin cooed. He’d already slid his hand up RK900’s flank, bringing it to rest on the glowing cyan ring.

“No,” RK900 gasped, “consider this an exercise in trust.”

Fingers trembling, Gavin twisted the regulator from its slot. The effect was immediate—existence assumed a red tinge, and a massive clock manifested in front of his eyes in a countdown to his own demise. Thirium poured from the opening, coating his pale skin in deep blue hues. He felt Gavin’s finger hesitating at the precipice, too frightened or too stunned—perhaps both.

“Today, Gavin,” RK900 hissed, through crimson layers of static.

Digits sunk inside, slipping with ease across the lubricated carbon fiber shell. It sparked a harsh, acrid pleasure deep in RK900’s nerves—sensory exposition in its rawest form. Energy erupted all over the android’s body—manic and volatile, drowning his head in unfamiliar colors. It felt amazing, next level, even.

_Why does removal of something so vital extend such ecstasy?_ He’d had a glimpse of this, amidst their earlier games of chicken, but it hit differently, now.

Pressure coiled around the base of his spine, promising RK900 the world when it inevitably ruptured. He howled—a prolonged synthesizer. All thoughts funneled to the mounting overload in his chest and ass. Gavin’s nail caught on an internal divot, shorting RK900’s vision and clouding it with blocky artifacts.

Somewhere, he heard words—distant, soft, meaningful. Gavin pressed to his ear, crooning, while he brought RK900 to the edge of sexual deconstruction. The fingers left his chest, reds hedging out the pinks and the oranges, before—

An iridescent rainbow enveloped the android—every color, sound, taste, and sensation dialed beyond eleven. The coil snapped, sending pleasure pulsing through every molecule of his body. The world glitched—a heavenly vibrating white followed by the rush of cool darkness.

RK900 opened his eyes.

He laid on his front, strong arms wrapped protectively around his body. Breaths, hot and heavy, caressed the blinding white of his exposed skin—nanites scurrying in a confused frenzy. The world had an aberrated fringe to it. Colors too vibrant and sensations too great.

Gavin’s cock twitched violently, still lodged deep in RK900’s velveteen insides. His prostate screamed at the attention, eliciting a groan from the exhausted android.

“Nines?” Gavin wheezed, “that means you’re fuckin’ alive, right?” He sounded breathless, winded, even.

“I,” RK900 started. His voice was not his own—more of an electronic approximation. “Yes, I think so.”

“Thank god.” Gavin exhaled onto RK900’s spine. “Means I finally get to finish, yeah? Before I die due to lack of blood in my brain.”

“By all means, Gavin,” said RK900. The handcuff chain snapped like a potato chip, and RK900 tucked his arms under his head.

“Thought I was kinky,” Gavin grumbled, a hint of relief in his voice.

He slipped out of the android, and lifted RK900’s back end. RK900 heard a little click, and the cock ring landed next to him—left to languish in the cloudy blue of his spend and the deep azure of his blood. Gavin spread his cheeks and sunk himself to the hilt in one, precise thrust. The android moaned, sensing the swollen mess Gavin had made of his perfect hole.

Gavin began moving, a little unsure at first, but quickly building an aggressive pace. RK900 groaned into a pillow, sensitive nerves still sizzling from his last orgasm. He clenched—preconstructing how he must look to the human, whimpering while his puffy rim clung steadfast to the molten dick spearing his guts.

“Nines,” Gavin whispered, plastering himself to the android’s back, “Nines, Nines, _Nines.”_

RK900 closed his eyes, arching his back so pretty, to give Gavin everything in the moment. His mind swam with orgasmic delirium, and he scrambled to take his own cock in hand. It drooled—hard and throbbing. RK900 had no idea when it had filled out, but he no longer had the willpower to deny it touch. He stroked in time to the rhythmic slap of their balls.

“Gavin, please,” RK900 sighed, looking to his human with wet, half-lidded eyes.

That was all it took.

Gavin came with a hoarse scream, driving his cock in, to the hilt. Warmth flooded RK900’s guts, catapulting him over the edge for a second time. The remnants of his ejaculate sputtered onto the sheets beneath him, and he collapsed onto the bed. Darkness shrouded, as his body cycled into a much needed reboot.

—

RK900 jolted awake. Moonlight filtered through the cracks in the window, illuminating a large can of mango flavored Thirium sat on top of the bedside table. Sluggish, he reached for it, popping it open and quickly draining the contents. He wiped away the excess and crushed the can, placing it back in its spot. RK900’s systems were still locked in the throes of recalibration, unable to properly optimize, until he settled down for a sleep cycle.

At the foot of the bed, Gavin sat, his green v-neck turned inside out, tag wiggling at the base of his neck. RK900 crept forward and tugged the small, white square, startling his partner. He propped his chin on Gavin’s shoulders—actions speaking in place of the words he struggled to summon.

“Man,” Gavin sighed, “the dudes at the Sheetz around the corner definitely think I’m some kinda serial killer who fucks up robots.”

RK900 rubbed his temple against Gavin—cat like.

“Then, take me with your next time,” he said.

“Great idea,” said Gavin, “they’ll think you’re the ringleader.”

The android dug his fingers into Gavin’s side with a pout. Gavin laughed a tired laugh—the kind of bone deep exhaustion that bled into satisfaction.

Humming, RK900 scooped Gavin and plopped him at the head of the bed. Dark Thirium stains saturated the sheets, turning the beige bedding cerulean. RK900 fisted a blanket, gauging the extent of his earlier mayhem.

“Don’t worry about it,” Gavin said, with a wave of his hand. “Ain’t the worse this bed’s seen.”

RK900 fought the urge to collect the sheets and build a giant nest, to be summarily set aflame. _So much filth._ Though, the more he went over the night in his mind, the less shame grasped his heart. From the corner of his eye, he watched Gavin strip away his shirt and toss it across the room. Scents of sweat and tobacco tickled his nostrils.

“I apologize, nonetheless,” said RK900.

“Shit’ll evaporate in a couple hours, yeah?” Gavin asked, “I mean, tt’d be a mistake for anyone to flash a black light over this fuckin’ bed, on a good day.”

Gavin yawned, eyes wandering over the android—his curls, the curve of his lips, his slender neck. A kind of nervousness gripped his expression, abating only when RK900 took the human’s chin in hand, thumb rubbing the gritty stubble.

“Y’know, a man could get used to waking up next to a big dicked robot in the morning,” said Gavin.

“And an android could get used to waking up next to a feral manchild.” RK900 smiled, the inherent frigidity of his demeanor melting into something akin to kindness—the closest he could muster, given he wasn’t Connor. It seemed to put Gavin at peace, the tempest in his stormy eyes annihilated by a good dicking. The human playfully punched RK900 in the shoulder.

Quiescence fell on the room—a calming blanket broken by the sound of Gavin’s soft snores. RK900 wrapped himself around Gavin like an octopus, nuzzling the short tufts at the base of his skull.

The answer finally came, as RK900 idly stroked Gavin’s chest: it hadn’t been the inherent danger of removing his regulator that pushed RK900 over the edge; it had been knowing Gavin would allow no harm to come to him. A welcome evolution to their fraught partnership.

RK900 grinned—giddy that, in a sea of otherwise impossible possibilities, he’d found his outlier.

—

Weak sunlight petered through the old, grimy windows, striping the plastic coated table with slats of pale yellow. Gavin leaned into the squeaky red cushion on his side of the booth, searching for a comfortable position. RK900 scanned his seat, seeking the best spot via a sea of geometry and pale blues.

“What’cha want, hun?”

The waitress all but teleported behind them. Her hair was pulled tight, in a bun, large brass hoops dangling from her ears. She glanced at the two men, impatience palpable.

“Cheeseburger and fries,” Gavin grunted, “and an espresso.”

“You got it, sweetie.” She offered a brief smile, and clicked her novelty sized pen.

RK900 rested his cheek on his palm and stared at the world outside the diner. Cars fumbled across potholes at speeds far in excess of the posted limit. A man wandered circles around a bus stop, yelling into his Bluetooth. An android chased an uncaring pigeon. Cutting through the madness was a faint reflection—Gavin’s warped visage tapping his fingers.

The waitress placed an off-white mug in front of Gavin, then disappeared to a booth at the far side of the restaurant.

“This is a date, yes?” RK900 asked, out of courtesy.

Gavin paled, sputtering on his steaming drink.

“Let me clarify: This _is_ a date,” said RK900.

Pink blossomed across the human’s cheeks—a quaint color that complemented his skin tone. Gavin coughed once, bringing the espresso back to his lips, eyes locked on the distant steel stovetop that gurgled with years of caked grease. He knocked back his drink and ran a hand through his hair.

“Pretty sure it ain’t called a ‘date’ when you’re my age,” Gavin muttered.

“And I’m pretty sure you aren’t supposed to order a cheeseburger for breakfast,” chirped RK900. He shot Gavin a wry smile.

Gavin threw an arm over the back of his bench and sniffed.

“You’re a goddamn menace, you know that?” he said. Then, abruptly changed the subject. “You ever been on a roller coaster before?”

“I’ve never been outside of the city,” RK900 confided.

Gavin shot him a sympathetic look, and the waitress materialized as swift and silent as earlier. She slid a plate heaped with golden fries and a giant burger in front of him.

“‘Preciate it.” Gavin nodded to the waitress.

“Anytime, hun.”

He tore into the burger—mouthfuls of red meat and sodium accompanied by the occasional suckle of a finger. RK900 plucked a single fry from the mound, and the sounds slowed to a halt. Muted green eyes locked on the android.

RK900 set aside his inhibitions and ate the fry. Molecules lit up his palate—a breakdown of complex salts and fats, and a tender crunch. Sadly, the taste was nothing special, or at least, RK900 hadn’t been trained to appreciate its frivolities. His energy came from a one-hundred and fifty year battery, not complex carbohydrates.

“Wait,” Gavin said, lettuce dangling from his open mouth, “you’re not gonna fuckin’ short circuit are you?”

“It goes into my waste collection chamber, to be neutralized by caustic chemicals.” RK900 threaded his fingers together and placed his chin on their bridge. “Much like your semen.”

Gavin dropped his burger. It broke, and tender meat splashed red tinged grease onto the table.

“Hang on,” said Gavin, “are you tellin’ me some CyberLife IT dude has to clean my splooge outta your stomach?”

A wry smile wound across RK900’s face as he bit into another fry. There was no need to divulge the fact he typically cleaned the unit himself, but he thrived on Gavin’s runaway imagination.

Clouds dispersed, painting Gavin in a vibrant gold. He studied his demolished burger, nibbling on the stub of a fingernail.

“You wanna get outta here, Nines?” Gavin asked, “just you and me—no Connors or Tinas. Nobody stickin’ their noses where they don’t belong?”

“What did you have in mind?” RK900 folded his arms on the surface of the table.

“You know.” Gavin shrugged. “A date.”

“I thought you were too old for those,” said RK900.

“Never too old to play hooky for a guy I’m into,” murmured Gavin.

He grinned, awash in the kaleidoscopic colors of the Windsor casino, on the far side of the river. Gavin tossed a bunch of bills onto the table and stood, waiting for RK900 to join him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will 900 finally get to ride in (and/or drive) Gavin’s muscle car? Find out next time, when they go on a real date and pretend to be grown ass adults 
> 
> @Vapedrone


	6. Chapter 6

The Camaro blazed down I-90–an orange blur against long faded asphalt. Engine a steady growl, it weaved between automated cars and eighteen wheelers, cruising a mean twenty miles over the speed limit. Pink and purple hues hummed on the horizon, washing over endless acres of corn and derelict barns. 

From the corner of his eye, Gavin watched RK900 lean out of the passenger side window, head resting atop the bed of his arms. To Gavin’s surprise, he hadn’t said a word about the driving infractions, content to let the wind whistle through his dark curls. 

_I’ve never left the city._

It was difficult to reconcile RK900 as a thirty-something year old man _and_ a relative newborn. The thought saddled Gavin with a deep seated fear—RK900 might outgrow him. Still, he was willing to play those odds. The rest of his family’s relationships made no sense, but they all functioned, somehow. 

“When I was a kid,” said Gavin, “the bus driver told us not to stick things you wanna keep out the window.” 

“What if I told you a collision would leave me relatively unharmed?” asked RK900. 

“I’d call bullshit,” Gavin said. He lowered his aviators so RK900 could see the incredulity in his eyes. “You’re not a _real_ Terminator.” 

“Is that so?” RK900 hummed, smiling. 

Gavin didn’t know, and he supposed it didn’t matter what he thought. RK900 was unmistakably designed to kill people, but his stated purpose remained irrelevant in light of the fact that he’d never done the deed. Whatever the US government had invested in this robot, they never anticipated he’d spend his days wooing a middle aged man or visiting a theme park. But life was odd like that. Things rarely added up the way they should. 

The Camaro shot in front of a rusty F-250 on its last limb, chromed truck nuts swaying in the Ohio wind. Gavin checked his side mirror and got a face full of the bird for his trouble. The last vestiges of rural America were trying to evade their automated future. RK900 was right—Gavin’s vintage Camaro shouldn’t exist, but it did, despite the odds. 

“Do you intend to tell me how you got your scar?” RK900 interjected. 

“What?” Gavin asked, shaking his head, “seriously, why do you give a fuck?” 

Red caught on the window, burning a hole in the corner of Gavin’s eye. It spun again and again, tipping off whatever card the android intended to play. 

“You talk about yourself a lot, Gavin, but you successfully evade ever saying _anything.”_

_Called out._ The sort of accusation he’d receive from his father. Maybe Anderson, if the codger was feeling frisky. 

“You think I got some kinda deep, dark secret?” asked Gavin. 

“No,” RK900 stated plainly, “there would be a trace of it somewhere. Some things are too scandalous to hide—too big not to leave breadcrumbs.” 

“So what then?” Leather creaked as Gavin’s grip tightened. 

“I just find it strange is all,” said RK900, “perhaps it’s a difference in speciation.” 

“Or I just don’t wanna out myself for dumb shit I did on my twenty-first,” Gavin said, exasperated, “I ain’t a complicated man, Nines. What you see is what you get.” 

Those blue eyes dragged up and down Gavin, like sub-zero x-rays. 

“I don’t think that’s remotely true,” RK900 said, “for anyone—least of all _you._ Humans are deceptive by nature, picking and choosing what information to project in a given situation.” 

_Growing pains,_ Gavin thought. RK900 had always been too honest and forthright. It mired him in conflict, and isolated most—but not Gavin. He could be on his deathbed, and still Gavin would seek a good repartee.

“Nines,” said Gavin, “you’ve been spending too much time around goddamn criminals. Not all of us are Bernie Madoff in disguise— _Christ!”_

One of _those_ frowns crossed RK900’s face—a bizarre cross between a sneer and a murderous scowl, planted on a face too angelic to host either. The stark differences between RK900 and his brother always emerged through their temperaments, leaving Gavin to wonder if the other four RK900s were also divas. _Probably._

Gavin veered off the highway at the next exit, passing its enormous, faded billboard that promised salvation in return for attendance to a nearby mega church. The same one that always tore a single laugh out of his mother every time they drove past. RK900 didn’t seem to notice it or care. 

“We’re still an hour out from the destination,” RK900 remarked. 

“I gotta take a piss.” 

They parked at a truck stop—one of the larger numbers that still had petroleum based self-service pumps. He screeched into a parking spot near the front doors, drawing the attention of scattered families on vacation. A few dads with the beginnings of beer bellies and ugly pastel polo shirts shook their heads, while their kids looked on in awe. Gavin exited the car and leaned on the driver’s side window. 

“Need anything, tin can?” Gavin gestured to a lobby stuffed to the brim with candy and overpriced knick knacks. 

“I’ll see for myself,” said the android, exiting the car. 

Wind ruffled his loose curls, and he brushed one away from his eyes. Breathtaking, as always, despite the return of the _Scruff McGruff_ shirt. The painted on jeans made his ass look great, but Gavin could tell they’d be hell on the roller coasters. Or would be, were RK900 a human. 

“Are you done ogling me, yet?” asked RK900. 

“Now, that’s a stupid question!” Gavin exclaimed, slapping the top of his car. 

Gavin did his business and paused in front of the bathroom mirror on his way out. He couldn’t shake the scruff—it followed him as it had followed his father—but the furrows drawn into his forehead had lightened, as had the bags under his eyes. He adjusted his unbuttoned overshirt and tight, white v-neck, reminding himself, no matter what steps he took, he’d still look like an opossum next to RK900. 

He found his partner standing at an end cap full of bizarre gift items—American flag bandanas, ugly statues of bald eagles, ancient quotes from dead comedians superimposed onto backdrops of men with guitars—the works. It dawned on Gavin that this was likely RK900’s first time seeing kitsch in its natural habitat. The android ran his fingers over a wild mustang’s bust, admiring the cheap porcelain’s too saturated colors. 

Gavin grabbed a trucker hat off a nearby rack and placed it on RK900’s head. _I’m With Stupid,_ with an arrow pointing down, printed black on chartreuse. The joke didn’t land for the same reason that it made no sense, but it was certainly _a_ look. 

“Fashion forward,” Gavin said, flashing a toothy smirk. 

RK900 removed the hat and flipped it in his hands, face harboring its usual flat expression. 

“Do you think it would clash with the crying eagle t-shirt over there?” 

“On you?” Gavin asked, giving the android a slow once over. “You’re probably the _only_ fucker who could pull off that combo.” 

“Yes, I think you’re right.” RK900 handed back the hat with a cool smile. 

Running a red light, they shot back onto the road. RK900 rolled his eyes, but said nothing, content to judge in relative silence. The sun rose higher as the morning progressed, giving Gavin’s eyes hell with its fiery glare. More than once, he considered pulling over and tossing the keys in RK900’s lap. He’d snatch a couple _z’s_ and wake up in time to catch the cresting neon hills of a roller coaster track. 

“A bar fight,” said Gavin, shattering the quiet.

“Your intended trajectory for the night?” 

“Don’t be a smartass,” Gavin groused. 

Butane blue. Alight with interest. Gavin met RK900’s gaze, ignoring the endless expanse of empty road. 

“My nose,” Gavin said, clipped. 

“On your twenty-first birthday,” RK900 clarified. 

Gavin idly rubbed the smooth scar. The phantom taste of copper touched the tip of his tongue. Memories drifted here and there, pieces of that night falling into place. His brother, Grant, diving to the floor. The sting of vodka on his wound. Garrett shaking his head all the way to the hospital. He _could_ weave a whale of a tale. _Do I want to?_

“Who won?” RK900 asked. 

“You don’t get to ask a man whether or not he lost a fight.” 

“Not you then.” That little grin crept across the android’s face. The mean one. 

“Bustin’ my balls.” 

The sharp sting of glass slicing his skin and the look of fury in his father’s eyes. Prior to that night, Gavin had never witnessed his old man threaten another person, but he clocked that scummy college kid real good. _Someday, you dumbasses’ll learn me and your mom won’t always be around to fix your problems. Now, lemme see that nose..._

“Why did he attack you?” asked RK900. 

“Why do twenty-one year olds do anything?” 

It struck him that RK900 might not have context for that question, which only preserved the mystery. Hormones? Testosterone? Too much alcohol and too little oversight? In the end, it didn’t matter—it was a story to be told and retold, even as it frayed around the edges. 

Gavin lined up the pieces in his head—the parts he needed to embellish, the parts he wanted to forget. Then, he told RK900 an iteration of the story, from start to finish. 

—

Under RK900’s watchful eye, Gavin slathered sunscreen across the exposed skin of his arms, legs, and face. Not his choice, but non-negotiable all the same. On the far side of the giant parking lot, technicolor tracks rose from the ground in bumps and loops. A distracted RK900 stole glances at the coasters, only to be jolted back into reality by a vibrating phone. 

“You’re receiving a call,” he said, studying the cell phone in his hand. 

The greasy cream still coated Gavin’s fingers, and he cursed softly as it smeared across the glass of his phone. He took one look at the name on the screen, then tossed the device into the back of his car. Out of sight, out of mind. 

“I’m not.” Gavin rubbed his slippery hands together. “And I didn’t.” 

_Beep._ The Camaro flashed the angry slits of its headlights and its doors locked. Finality. 

“I don’t understand,” said RK900, “you shouldn’t disregard your father’s calls.” 

“Duly noted.” Gavin clipped his keys to a belt loop on his black shorts, purposely avoiding RK900’s gaze. 

“What will you do when he shows up at your doorstep?” RK900 asked. 

“Maybe that’s what I’m counting on.” Gavin sighed, ruffling the hair on the back of his head. Guilt seeped into his stomach, eroding his otherwise positive mood. Today was about his future, not the past. 

“You recognize that it’s unfair to ask others to chase you, yes?” RK900 squeezed the detective’s shoulder. Gavin reached for RK900’s fingers, hovering over pale skin for far too long. 

“I mean, it worked on you, yeah?” 

RK900 stared at Gavin, intense eyes unblinking. 

“Barely.” Gold swirled at the android’s temple. 

At some point, Gavin realized he no longer needed RK900’s mood ring. He could ascertain the android’s frustration from his eyes, the slight flare of his nostrils, and the specific angle of his head. Gavin placed a thumb on RK900’s LED, blocking it from view. The circle burned hot on his skin. Amidst it all, Gavin started to realize RK900 _might_ be irreplaceable. 

“Shit works in mysterious ways, huh?” 

_Red._ Gavin instinctively knew without peeking under his thumb. He let his fingers drift across RK900’s cheek, before stuffing his hands in his pockets. 

“C’mon, let’s go ride some rides,” said Gavin, “pop your coaster cherry and all that shit.” 

Screams filled the small peninsula, mixing with the roar of wheels gliding along steel. The two men joined the mass of people funneling through the front gates. Tons of teenagers and young couples filled out the crowd, but Gavin noticed a distinct lack of androids. RK900 interfaced with the self service kiosk in lieu of Gavin’s disgraced phone, registering their tickets. 

“Yo, Nines, do robots just, like, hate fun?” Gavin searched the sea of faces for LEDs, but only succeeded in finding one additional android. 

“No,” said RK900, “but most civilian models lack a robust and sensitive internal gyroscope.” 

“English?” Gavin sighed. 

“My ‘stomach flips’ during high falls,” said RK900, “an AX300 doesn’t have that feature.” 

“Sucks to be them, I guess.” 

Gavin stared at the packed midway, with its endless stream of colorful gondolas slowly flying over his head, and the almost cartoonish veneer of mid-century America woven into every building. Little kids darted into gift shops, while their parents tried to simultaneously check their fanny packs and keep an eye on their progeny. The towering serpent of a nearby rollercoaster cast a geometric shadow over all of it. 

Memories rushed Gavin. He recalled tricking his older brother, George, into riding _The Top Thrill Dragster,_ to prove a point. Whatever the “point,” it had been long lost to time, but not George’s expression. He’d never forgoten the pallid tinge coating those sharp, androgynous features and the open-ended promise of an eleven year old’s revenge. Gavin grinned to himself, drawing a perplexed look from his companion. 

“It’s nothin’, man,” he said. 

In a way, he pitied the android. RK900 would never have dumb childhood experiences, but Gavin hoped today would be a starting point for a parallel. Opportunities to make his own stories and build lasting memories. He needed more from life than bickering with Connor day in and day out. 

—

“Waiting’s the worst part,” Gavin groused, hopping onto a snaking metal partition. 

A gaggle of young adults pointed to RK900, their unsubtle fanboying beginning to grate on Gavin’s nerves. Not jealousy, but being accessory to unwanted celebrity wasn’t Gavin’s scene. _Fuckin’ nerds._ It was only a matter of time before one worked up the gumption to talk to RK900. 

Pneumatic pistons hissed, rocketing a cart of riders up and over the parabolic track. The revised _Top Thrill Dragster_ towered an additional fifty feet, with the added bonus of a hill and a loop. Anxiety welled in Gavin’s chest, but he refused to lose face in front of RK900. _Get the big one out of the way, first, and the rest’ll be a piece of cake._

“I’m not a little bitch,” Gavin muttered under his breath. 

“Fact or opinion?” RK900 asked, a cool smile on his lips, “I can read your heart rate, you know?”

“Tell me somethin’ I don’t.” Gavin waved off the robot. 

RK900’s smile drooped. 

“We’ve no obligation to ride this ride,” RK900 said. 

“Dude, I’m not afraid of some fuckin’ kiddie coaster. _Jesus!”_ Gavin huffed, crossing his arms. Always something to prove. Then again, if he couldn’t endure a ride designed for thirteen year olds, how was he supposed to handle the other shit in his life? Wasn’t that why he’d chosen to bring RK900 to a theme park? To demonstrate he wasn’t a coward? 

_Cowardice comes in different flavors, dipshit._

Gavin clicked his tongue. He’d rather ride this coaster a thousand times than dive into his emotional shortcomings. 

“Holy shit! You’re, like, the James Bond of androids!” 

Their path finally collided with the nerds. Part of Gavin had hoped they were the shy kind, but no such luck. He didn’t interfere with their little Q and A session. The unexpected moments tended to be the most memorable, and the nerds were completely harmless. More likely to blog than cause a ruckus. RK900 preened, talking shop about statistics and specifications. He loved being the center of attention, spy model or no. 

Gavin’s mind drifted to thoughts of _them._ The kind of daydreams he’d ignored for years. The sugary stuff—hand holding, beaches at sunset, and passing out on each other after long plane flights. Made him feel about twelve years younger. 

“You don’t need to be afraid,” said RK900, breaking Gavin’s reveries. It seemed the zigzag of the line had struck again, separating RK900 from his fan club. “The chance this ride will suffer a catastrophic failure is absolutely abysmal, to say the least.” 

“Worse ways to go than flying off a coaster,” said Gavin. 

“Objectively speaking,” RK900 agreed. The android slid his fingers along the chipped orange metal, placing his hand on top of Gavin’s. 

“It really doesn’t freak you out? The whole free fall thing,” asked Gavin. 

Gold, burning hot like the mean rays of the overhead sun. RK900’s eyes tracked a cart as it flew up the twisted lines of rail and crested over the apex. 

“No,” RK900 said, finally, “what fears I have don’t stem from death.” 

_Must be nice._ Gavin sniffed, unconvinced RK900 feared anything. The scent of iron tickled his nostrils, and the nerds swapped places with the group in front of them to better continue their conversation. 

After an eternity, they reached the head of the line. RK900 made it clear he wanted front row seats, and his new found admirers negotiated with the other riders, on the android’s behalf. An unfortunate turn of events for Gavin, who preferred any other position. Gavin seated himself, heart trying to smash through his chest. 

A straight shot of orange steel pivoted ninety degrees, into a loose corkscrew the height of a skyscraper. Gavin’s stomach dropped, fear gripping his nerves in a vice. RK900’s hand found his thigh, and gave it a reassuring squeeze. From that point, everything was on rails. All Gavin could do was sit back and enjoy the ride. 

Pneumatic exhaust filled the air, followed by the two stop lights on either side of the track blinking red. 

“I just,” Gavin scrambled to say, “you gotta know I wouldn’t do this for _anyone_ else.” 

Red bulbs flashed green, and the cart erupted at well over one hundred miles an hour. 

Ninety seconds: the exact length of time it took for Gavin’s soul to both exit his body and return. He practically fell out of the cart at the conclusion of the ride, knees shaking with unmitigated ferocity. Floating weightless, at the track’s absolute peak, he’d caught the flicker of a red LED. Then, gravity kicked in, like the mean bitch she was, and everything became a roaring blur of sound and color. 

“Are you alright?” RK900 reached for Gavin, helping him to steady his gait. 

“God damn!” Gavin groaned, “I really _am_ getting old.” 

His head swam from the loop, and he predicted a minor migraine before the day was out. Grumbling, Gavin sat on a bench near the exit, bracing his arms on his knees. RK900 plopped next to him.

“I’ve never experienced anything quite like that,” said RK900. 

“Helluva time, huh?” 

“I’m unsure whether I liked or hated it,” the android continued, “it reminded me a bit of your driving.” 

“Jackass.” Gavin snorted and stood, stretching his arms and back. RK900 remained seated, fingers fidgeting in his lap. 

_What fears I have don’t stem from death._ The words knocked around Gavin’s skull, urging him to unpack their meaning. RK900 seemed shaken, though Gavin doubted it had much to do with the coaster. 

“So, uh,” he began, “why didn’t you take a cushy job, like the other RK900s?” 

The android surveyed Gavin, butane eyes harboring an almost mean glint. It didn’t phase Gavin, anymore—more of a turn on than anything else. 

“I had a number of opportunities.” RK900 watched a drop tower plummet in the distance. “But that life wasn’t for me. It didn’t align with any of my goals.” 

“Which are?” 

RK900 placed an arm behind the rubber dipped mesh of the bench, and trained his eyes on Gavin. 

“Having a life of my own.” 

A fat seagull hobbled onto the bench, shrieking loudly for food. Gavin stepped forward, ready to shoo it, but RK900 met the gull’s beady, black eyes. He held out a hand, slowly inching towards the rotund seabird. Right before he made contact, the gull cawed, widely flapping its wings in RK900’s face. Then it was gone, soaring over the jade ripples of Lake Eerie. 

Gavin bent over, clutching his belly in laughter. He wheezed, but had to admit the disappointed pout on RK900’s face was adorable. 

—

Wet saturated Gavin’s clothes, his sneakers squeaking with every step he took. He pawed at his shirt, trying to divest it of the nasty, over-chlorinated log flume water, to no avail. All it seemed to accomplish was making his already translucent shirt more damning. He didn’t miss the way ice chip eyes settled on the soft curves of his sopping chest. 

“That ride was a mistake,” Gavin grumbled, maneuvering the panels of his button up overshirt to cover the bright green bulbs of his piercings. 

“I was under the impression you enjoyed running around in wet t-shirts.” RK900 shot him a cool smile. 

Gavin refused to dignify him with a response. 

He bought a corn dog from a man dressed like a cowboy, who stood in a stall fashioned after a giant spittoon barrel. Fiberglass tumbleweeds poked out of meticulously curated scenery, their paint weathered by the endless sway of giant pampas grass. RK900 crouched and touched one. Sometimes, the android was the biggest hard-ass Gavin had ever met; other times, he reminded Gavin of an overgrown kid. 

Gavin found an empty wooden table, and took a seat. RK900 joined soon after, a serrated blade of pampas grass in hand. They watched underpaid teenagers yell at passerbys to play rigged midway games. A fit guy on the horizontal rope ladder twisted and fell, pulling a chuckle from Gavin as he nibbled the tip of his corn dog. 

A pink tongue darted out of RK900’s mouth. Gavin regarded the android and the sheer hunger in his eyes. 

“Jesus, Nines,” he scoffed, “it’s just a corndog.” 

“It’s rather phallic.” RK900 leaned forward. 

Gavin glanced around the area, checking to ensure they were isolated. He licked a slow, teasing stripe up the side of the corn dog's sweet skin, and dipped it deep into his open mouth a couple times. For a final flourish, Gavin wrapped his lips around the corn dog, suckled, and took a huge bite. 

“That’s all you get,” said Gavin, “I’m not gonna deepthroat my lunch.” 

RK900 tried to flash puppy dog eyes at Gavin, but only succeeded in looking like a murderous version of Connor. Hot, but not guilt inducing. 

“Gonna make me blush if you keep staring like that.” Gavin took another bite of his lunch. 

“I’ve determined a wet shirt on you is far more obscene than none at all.” RK900 placed his chin on a bed of intertwined fingers. 

“That’s what five days a week in the gym’ll get you,” said Gavin, “maybe I’ll quit my job and make money off thirsty fucks like you.” 

“You’d grow bored,” RK900 said unexpectedly, “you like attention, but thrive best when given difficult parameters with no clear solutions.” 

“So, what? You got me all figured out, Mr. Psychoanalyst,” asked Gavin, polishing off his corn dog. He licked the mustard off his fingers, trying not to panic.

“No,” said RK900, pulling back from the table, “I’m only certain you’d prefer building the infrastructure to facilitate camming, more than you’d enjoy doing it yourself. You’re ambitious and often harbor disdain for rules, unless _you’ve_ set them.”

A light wind ruffled Gavin’s damp hair as he stared deep into those menacing blue eyes. RK900 never was one to pull punches. Still, the incidental comparison drawn between him and his two brothers left Gavin a bit shaken. He’d tried to set himself apart from Grant and George, but at the end of the day, growing up with a mother as ruthlessly ambitious as theirs left a mark. He’d watched her meteoric ascension through the ranks of GM’s design department, and always hoped to experience something similar. 

“Guess Instagram’s out then,” Gavin quipped, “wouldn’t want you to get jealous of other dudes checking out my assets.” 

RK900 rolled his eyes and stared into the distance, watching others walk past. Gavin shivered, keenly aware of the growing damp of his clothes. He excused himself, pointing to a small restroom off the beaten path. The android didn’t respond, but Gavin knew he heard. 

—

Caustic cleaner mixed with the harsh scent of chlorine, slamming into Gavin the moment he opened the door. The restroom smelled wet, its floor covered in shoe prints. Gavin stripped off his shirt and placed it under the dryer. 

Adrenaline burned through his veins, heart pounding with the residual excitement from all the rides. And _maybe_ something more. Somehow, months later, Gavin was still unaccustomed to RK900 reading him like a book. Hot air enveloped him, flushing away the droplets that lingered on his skin. 

“Why waste your time on this, Gavin?” RK900’s dark voice sliced through the roaring dryer. 

“Got tired of being ogled,” said Gavin, shooting the android a knowing look. He blinked as he stared at the door. New, holographic tape wound around it. _Temporarily closed for cleaning._ A smiling mascot and a smiling RK900. “Talk about abusing your authority…” 

A tingle crept up Gavin’s spine at the wide flush of RK900’s pupils. He reckoned the robot had a thing for wet t-shirts. 

“The rides have left my sensors in a unique kind of disarray.” The android flashed the sharp points of his teeth. “I’d appreciate a recalibration.” 

“Jesus, Nines,” groaned Gavin, “we really gotta work on your pick up lines, man.” 

RK900 pouted, both predatory and cute. Enough to make Gavin’s blood boil in frustration. He _wanted_ the android, here and now, but a public restroom at Cedar Pointe was still a public restroom at Cedar Pointe. 

“Keep it in your pants, man,” Gavin hissed, grabbing RK900’s crotch. An interested swell met his fingers—already hot and heavy, straining against the android’s sinfully tight jeans. 

“Why?” RK900 asked, grabbing the wet shirt from Gavin’s free hand, “I don’t see any reason not to indulge myself.”

“You’re lucky as hell I’m a sucker for a pretty face.” Gavin squeezed, hard, taunting that huge cock. RK900’s poor zipper felt primed to burst. It couldn’t hold a candle to military grade dick. 

RK900 wrapped Gavin’s shirt around his neck, bringing them chest to chest. Gavin couldn’t stop himself from taking RK900’s lips. He shoved the android backwards, against the counter of automated sinks, his tongue sliding along the sandpaper grit of RK900’s. The buttons of those tight jeans popped off easily, and the zipper slid down at light speed, relieved to no longer cage RK900’s package. Gavin pawed at the tent, lizard brain quickly assuming control of his mind—

Screaming riders brought him plummeting back to reality. 

Gavin pulled away from RK900, need filling his nerves with every pulse of his heart. He caught the outline of a vein through the android’s grey boxer briefs, and swallowed. 

“What-What’re you gonna do about this?” Gavin gestured to the prominent bulge in his own shorts. “I can’t walk around the park with this shit.” 

Truthfully, Gavin wanted RK900’s cock inside _him,_ but that wasn’t going to happen. Not this time, anyway. He slipped on his shirt. The chilly fabric slid across his nipples, bringing them to a sharp point. 

“How would you want me to deal with it?” RK900 crossed his arms, tongue licking the point of a canine. 

“Anything, Nines. _Anything—Fuck!”_ Gavin bit his knuckles, trying to tune out the nearby pop music. He was going to explode. 

“I’m not sucking you off,” said RK900, “this floor is filthy.” 

The android looked absurd, standing there, with his cock straining fabric almost to the point of rips, pretending he was disaffected. Gavin shook his head and entered one of the two available stalls, mind fixated on that monster turning his hole into a glistening, wet mess. _I’ll rub out a quick one, and it’ll all be fine._

Footsteps echoed behind Gavin, and suddenly the stall felt too small, crowded as it was by two grown men. RK900 closed the door with a sharp clack, pressing close to the human. Skin touched skin, and Gavin realized the android lacked pants. One hand drifted under Gavin’s tight shirt, and the other dipped low, cupping his junk. 

“I said I wouldn’t suck you off,” whispered RK900, “but that doesn’t mean _other_ things are off the table.” 

Long fingers nudged past Gavin’s foreskin, teasing his sensitive glans. He wheezed, trying to stave off the loud sounds he _wanted_ to make. All he could do was hope RK900 locked the door in addition to camouflaging it. 

“You’re a goddamn pervert, you know that?” said Gavin. 

“I learned from the _best.”_ RK900 nipped Gavin’s earlobe—hard. The human felt a small bead of hot blood pool, before that textured tongue lapped it away. “You’re teeming with arousal, _detective.”_

Gavin’s shorts fell, crumpling around his ankles. A molten hot line pressed into the crack of his ass, thick enough to part his cheeks. It slid past his needy pucker.

“Nines,” Gavin whimpered, “much as I wanna get fucked, I won’t be able to ride jack-shit if you stick that in me.” 

“Hmm,” Nines hummed, hand dancing along Gavin’s erect cock, “I suppose that is a predicament.” 

The android pulled away, and spun Gavin to face him, before forcing him to sit on the toilet. Heat effused through the tiny space. Gavin’s mouth ran dry at the sight of RK900’s cock dribbling between his long, lightly muscled legs—dark blue against pallid white. He surged forward, ready to choke himself on it, but RK900 halted him. 

“We need to be mindful of our mess.” 

RK900 reached into his draped jeans and produced a metallic condom packet. Confused, Gavin blinked. An itch in the back of his mind screamed RK900 probably planned this from the start, but he didn’t care. 

“You, uh, want me to put it on with my teeth or something?” Gavin frowned, sulking at the thought of sucking off the android without being able to swallow. 

“No,” said RK900, “I want you to slide your shirt up, until it’s under your arms, so I can see those glorious tits.” He bit into the packet, tearing off the top with only his sparkling white teeth. 

Gavin rushed to do as he was told, exposing his chest and torso to the damp, stuffy air. RK900 smirked and rolled the condom over his dick, leaving about an inch of empty latex at the top. 

“All mine,” the android mused. He loomed over Gavin, legs spread with a foot on either side of the human. His covered cock slapped Gavin’s cheek, but the man didn’t dare reach for it with his tongue. RK900 ran a loving hand through Gavin’s hair, and tilted his chin to meet the android’s inky black eyes. 

“Y-Yeah, babe. All yours,” Gavin whispered, with reverence. 

“Good boy.” RK900 flicked the little tuft of hair sticking out at the front of Gavin’s hairline. 

Then, the android placed a hand on either plastic wall of the stall, and began to lower himself. Gavin thanked god RK900 wasn’t human at that moment. His muscles screamed, thinking about the discomfort of maintaining that position, but his dick violently twitched as an impossibly tight hole began to consume it. 

Gavin reached for RK900’s asscheeks, spreading them wide to help stretch his unwilling pucker. Heat enveloped his dick, fat tip breaching RK900 with a pop. He threw back his head, groaning at the liquid vice of RK900’s perfect insides. Lubricant rushed down Gavin’s shaft, displaced by the thick cock filling RK900’s guts. 

“So...much.” Static gripped RK900’s voice, and a clear blue strand of drool dripped from his mouth. With a stark moan, he stuffed the rest of Gavin’s dick into his eager hole. RK900 arched his back, fluttering around Gavin with a content, electronic sigh. 

The human almost came on the spot. 

“You’re a huge slut for my cock, aren’t you, Nines?” Gavin flexed inside the vacuum seal of his partner’s rectum. “Just spearin’ yourself with no preparation.” 

“It pays to be an android,” murmured RK900. His head was thrown back, mouth open wide and drooling. RK900’s tongue lolled, and Gavin wondered for half a beat where the voice had come from, before thinking better of it. 

RK900 started to move—slow, at first. He fucked himself at a leisurely pace, sharp teeth gritted and forehead wrinkled in concentration. His chest rose and fell in time with those gorgeous, mechanical sighs. Gavin gripped RK900’s hips for dear life, trying not to come every time the android’s hole squeezed his poor cock. 

“Bet you’d ride dick all day if you could.” Gavin grunted, rolling his hips. “Spend every night dreaming of being stuffed and stretched—filled up with my jizz.” 

The android’s glossy eyes snapped to attention, and he stared at Gavin, a predatory grin crossing his features. It sent a shiver down the human’s spine. 

“I think about a lot of things, Gavin.” RK900 doubled his pace, and ran his hands up his partner’s sides. “All the different things I could do to you.” They faltered at Gavin’s pecs, and he massaged the man’s nipples with his thumbs. “How badly I want to slot my dick between your chest.” RK900 squeezed Gavin’s pecs together, gripping the muscle so, so tight—tight enough to pull a sigh from Gavin. “And watch my come ooze down all the pretty lines you worked so hard to define—preferably while you’re plugged with a giant dildo. ” 

RK900 tugged on a barbell, and Gavin cried out. He fought hard to bite back his impending orgasm—to quell that molten string twisting at the base of his spine. 

“You promise?” Gavin forced out. His fingers tightened on RK900’s pale hips, forcing the little nanites of his skin to scurry away. 

“I don’t lie, Gavin.” RK900 twisted an abused nipple, canines flashing in that feral way. 

Gavin thought he might seize, especially when RK900’s entrance squeezed the base of his cock, effectively culling his orgasm. The human whimpered, clawing at RK900’s abdomen in a frustrated rage. 

“We can’t have that, Gavin.” RK900 began bouncing once more. “You come when I come. And not a moment sooner.” 

“Fuckin’ asshole,” Gavin wheezed, “what’s a man gotta do to just get off?” 

Gavin glared at the android, watching the way RK900 undulated. His walls grew slicker—a mixture of ice and flame—and his hole loosened. One deep breath later, Gavin took RK900’s monster cock in hand, fingers barely meeting at the widest part. 

The android cooed—a pleased, guttural sound. Gavin stroked RK900, wrist and fingers deftly working his blue cock. RK900 started tempering his movements, shuffling between the fat cock wrecking his insides and the hand massaging his length. 

“Never took you for the type to get it on in a nasty-ass toilet stall,” Gavin whispered, pressing his thumb against the wet slit, through thin latex. 

“I think it’s important to try everything once.” The android’s words were emitted, not spoken. He panted, tongue dripping clear blue all over Gavin’s abs, and Gavin pulled him into a filthy kiss, full of teeth. Lava licked his spine, promising a wave of pleasure he didn’t want to be denied. His movements sped up, hips rolling as best they could, while he toyed with RK900’s cock. 

RK900’s movements stuttered, and Gavin felt the tip of the condom balloon next to his fingers. It swelled into a cloudy blue bulb, threatening to burst. Gavin fucked into RK900 one last time with a hearty moan, emptying himself into that sweet, sweet hole. He thrust until his dick fell limp, and he rested his forehead on the still android. 

“Best bathroom sex I’ve ever had,” Gavin muttered against RK900’s shirt. He ran his hands up and down RK900’s back in soothing circles. Exhaustion washed over his muscles and he fought the urge to close his eyes. 

The android shuddered and peeled himself off of Gavin. Feet unsteady, RK900 leaned on a wall as he removed and tied off the condom. 

“See,” said RK900, “no mess.” It dangled in the air—a pearlescent blue pendulum. Gavin shook his head. 

“Whatever, Nines.” 

“And we can ride rides, as your ass wasn’t destroyed.” The android smiled a tired smile. 

“Yeah...the _real_ heart of the matter,” Gavin groused. He snatched the condom, poked a hole in it, and flushed it down the toilet, watching blue streaks swirl down and away. Arms wrapped around him, from behind, quietly stroking Gavin’s ribs. The human closed his eyes, nuzzling RK900’s neck. 

Body weary, a pleasant energy diffused across Gavin’s psyche, filling him with renewed vigor. 

—

“Time to pull out the big guns,” announced Gavin. 

“Meaning?” 

“Gonna win you one of those stupid stuffed animals.” He clapped and gestured towards the midway. 

“Why?” RK900 stopped. 

“The fuck you mean, ‘why?’” Gavin placed his hands on his hips. “It’s what you do, man!” 

The android canted his head to the side, temple ringing a furious yellow. There was no point in explaining the concept to RK900–Gavin decided to demonstrate, instead. 

Gavin slid in front of the nearest booth, where a young brunette smacked her lips on chewing gum. She glanced at him, brown eyes lousy with boredom, and tapped her fingers on worn, green mesh. The whole scene reminded Gavin of all those dead end jobs he’d held as a kid, trying to pinch pennies for the latest game system. 

“What’ll it take to win that penguin over there. The blue one.” He pointed to a neon plush that had to be at least five feet tall. 

“You won’t get it,” the girl drawled, with an Eastern European accent. She nodded to a twenty by twenty array of colorized milk cans behind her. “But he might.” 

Dark eyes flicked towards RK900. She stepped back, grabbing an assortment of plastic rings. Gavin didn’t miss the irritation in her movements, or the sign indicating android patrons weren’t permitted to play the game. 

“Three rings; five dollars.” The girl placed them in front of Gavin and held out her hand. “Red can wins you the bird.” 

“Only place on the planet that still requires cash,” he muttered, dropping the bills in her hand. 

Three rings flew through the air, and three rings bounced off the milk cans with a metallic clink. Even knowing the game was a scam, Gavin felt his face grow hot. Humiliation ate at him, and he slid another five dollar bill to the girl. Smirking, she handed him a second set of rings. 

“Big spender,” mused the attendant. 

“You heckle all your patrons?” Gavin grabbed them. 

“Only the ones I know won’t report me.” She plucked the penguin from its display and brought it to the front of the booth. “It matches your boyfriend’s _light.”_

He didn’t correct her. 

With a furious blush, Gavin hurled his first ring. It ricocheted into the depths of the booth. The other two followed suit. Pissed, he purchased another six rings. 

“Gavin.” RK900 placed his hand on the human’s shoulder. “At this point, it would be more cost effective to order an equivalent toy from the internet.” 

“That ain’t the point, Nines!” exclaimed Gavin. 

“Yes,” agreed the girl, as she leaned against a wooden pole, “you win the toy for your boyfriend, so everyone knows you’re a happy couple.” 

All five feet of stuffed penguin slumped, dead eyes fixated on Gavin. He glanced at the stupid toy, ears hot, and tossed the rings. Failure. There were other games on the midway, but now _this_ one felt personal. A voice of reason pleaded for him to just walk away—not everything in life required a drawn out battle. Sighing, he shrugged off the itch to try again, balling his fists against the prickly green felt. 

“Let him try.” The attendant nodded to RK900. 

“Your sign indicates—”

But the girl cut off RK900, quickly moving to stand in front of the notice. 

“What sign?” She placed the three plastic rings on the table, and extended an open palm to Gavin. 

Gavin glanced at RK900 and shrugged. _Got nothin’ to lose._ He slapped a fiver into her waiting hand, and stepped aside. RK900 studied the little rings, temple flickering through golds and blues—the psychic android routine in action. Assuming androids had been banned from the game for their precision, Gavin doubted the park also accounted for robots who could predict exact outcomes. The smirking teenager on the other side of the bench certainly hadn’t. 

RK900 tossed his first ring. It bounced off the back of the booth and came to a vertical landing, on the top of the can, next to the winner. Heat seeped onto Gavin’s cheeks, and he stared at the adjacent booth. He heard two more clinks, and watched a ring circle the neck of the red bottle. 

“Show off,” groused Gavin. 

The girl clapped, exiting her post, giant penguin in hand. She gave it to Gavin, and immediately returned to the tablet she’d hidden under the lip of the booth. Gavin stared into the penguin’s dead, embroidered eyes. Eerily reminiscent of his initial meeting with RK900, but also indicative of how much the robot had changed in their months together. 

“All yours, tin can,” said Gavin, holding out the giant bird. “This one won’t fly away. I promise.” 

RK900 accepted the doll, and held it at arm’s length, temple blinking blues and golds and reds. Likely, the first stuffed animal RK900 had ever held, let alone seen. 

“It ain’t gonna bite you, buddy,” said Gavin. 

The android shot him a mean glare, but quickly returned to his appraisal of the plush. He brought it closer to his body, and squeezed the penguin’s cheeks. 

“It will be cumbersome on rides,” he noted, twisting the lines of the cartoonish beak into a smile. He hefted the toy, holding it under the two flaps of its wings, engaged in an endless staring contest with no real winner. 

“Nah, it’ll be fine.” Gavin slapped RK900’s back, leading him down the midway, towards the hybridized wooden coasters. 

For a moment, Gavin worried he’d made a mistake, but the android’s severe concentration on the toy said otherwise. If he disliked it, he would’ve spoken up by now. 

“Connor will want to know where this came from,” said RK900. 

“Leave him hangin’. Shit’ll drive him bonkers,” responded Gavin, “but that’s not what’s _actually_ buggin’ you, is it?” 

RK900 blinked and tucked the enormous penguin under his arm. It stood in comical contrast with the hard lines of its owner—a wild juxtaposition. No one would ever believe this moment happened without pictorial proof. 

“I’m unperturbed.” RK900 paused. “Just trying to ascertain the best spot for it in my room.” 

“Your bed, man. Keep it on your bed.” Gavin placed his arms behind his head. “Snuggle with it at night.” 

“I find this toy a poor substitute for spooning.” RK900 wrinkled his nose, but hugged the bird nonetheless. 

Gavin burst out laughing, noting the implicit subtext in RK900’s words. He snatched the toy out of the android’s hands and tossed it in the air. RK900 elbowed him, demanding the return of his penguin. 

—

Technicolor lights wound around the twisted lengths of track, strobing through the rainbow. Soft, lapping waves smudged the shapes and colors, turning the drab water of Lake Eerie into an impressionistic painting. Gavin’s legs dangled over the pier as he glanced into the mooring darkness of the water. RK900 sat next to him, in his rigid way, clutching the penguin doll close to his chest. His LED cycled through colors as quickly as the decorative lights strewn on the rides. Gavin felt it too, the tingle in the bottom of his stomach, clawing its way through his body. Suffocation. 

This was some kind of alternate dimension—a collapse of time and space. An impossible beginning for a man ready to coast through the rest of his life. _But that was never what I wanted, was it?_ Gavin thought of his Vegas daydreams and the way he’d spent the last few years wallowing in an existential quandary of his own creation. It took the ruthless hounding of an inhuman creature to break through his shell. 

Looking out, over the gorgeous palette of mirrored light, Gavin couldn’t help thinking he’d gone about a lot of things the wrong way. The Camaro had been a solid first step, marred by his own toxic shortcomings; but nothing was written in stone. The pieces just needed to be shaken. 

“We should get going,” said Gavin, standing. 

RK900 pulled his prize closer to his chest, attention locked on the lake. He had a curious expression—a subtle deflection of his traditional emptiness. Gavin turned on his heel, and took in the sight of Cedar Pointe, in all its illuminated splendor. Holographic fireworks spewed around the park, and riders passed through them without so much as a ripple. When he tore away, RK900 stood alongside him, absorbing the visuals. 

“Kickass, huh?” 

“It’s very beautiful,” said RK900, “I never imagined it would be so...impactful in person.” 

“Live and learn.” Gavin shrugged. “Bet you’re glad you got to see it with _me_ and not Connor.” 

Silence, mixed with distant screams and the soft lap of polluted water. 

“Understatement of the century,” RK900 murmured. 

Together, they navigated hypnotized crowds, lost in the sparkling, artificial gems lighting up the sky. Couples, families, children, and friends, all bubbling with excitement. Electricity sizzled under Gavin’s skin as they headed into the expansive parking lot—an anticipation. He sensed it in RK900 too, despite the android’s frigid airs. 

“Gavin.” RK900 fell back a few paces, studying the oversized plush. 

Gavin halted in front of his car. Its headlights flashed a blinding white at the press of a button, welcoming home its owner. He plopped onto the hood, gazing at RK900. There was a hardness in the android’s eyes, and it sent chills down Gavin’s spine—too reminiscent of the confrontation with his father six months ago. 

_“Dammit, Gav...you don’t always have to settle. Someday you gotta open those wings, or they’ll atrophy and leave you stranded.”_

_“Got no idea what you’re talking about, old man. There’s plenty for me, here. I’m on the fast track to lieutenant, and I’ll damn sure make captain in the next five years.”_

The flash of pity on Garrett’s face still haunted Gavin. A split second that fundamentally altered their relationship, or the biggest overreaction of Gavin’s life. The flavor depended on the day and his mood. 

_“Is that what you want? Is that really all any of you boys ever wanted? Do you just aim for the top ‘cause it’s the path of least resistance? Startin’ to think I failed as a father somewhere down the line…”_

The memories poured over Gavin. It still hurt, like a finger pressed to an open wound. _Because it’s true._ Was it possible to be aimless and on track at the same time? Gavin saw in RK900 a different shade of the exact struggle—a man lost on a straight path. 

“Got a question for me, Nines?” asked Gavin. He drummed his fingers on orange steel. 

“What happens when we reach Detroit?” Those butane eyes locked onto Gavin. “Between us, I mean.”

Gavin considered dodging the question, his usual dance around the topic at hand. But his father’s words wouldn’t leave. They clung to him, latching onto that raw part of his psyche. Loneliness was overrated, even if it was easy. 

“Depends on what you want, man,” said Gavin, “what you _genuinely_ want.” 

The Camaro felt inexplicably hot to the touch, his fingertips burning with a phantom flame. 

“You have an aversion to personal attachments,” RK900 pointed out, “and I have an aversion to rejection.” 

Gavin rubbed his chin, the scratch of stubble ringing extra loud in his ears. Faux fireworks continued to explode inside the park, hundreds of colors filling the dark purple of the night sky. Chaos in its loveliest form. 

“Nines, the only thing I can guarantee is I am who I am,” said Gavin, fixating on the holographic stream, “what you’ve seen so far is what you’re gonna get.” 

“You’re a confounding individual,” agreed RK900, “but I find appeal in the rough edges.” 

“Asshole.” A crooked smile wound across Gavin’s face. Some of the butterflies quelled at the realization this wasn’t an outright dismissal. A beginning—not an end or a continuation. “I’m willing to take this as far as it’ll go, but I ain’t gonna promise any miracles.” 

RK900’s grip on the toy slackened. Its dead, embroidered eyes held an impossible look of relief. Even Gavin felt for the doll, glad it was finally off stress ball duty. 

“Then we’re in agreement? An exclusive relationship.” 

“Boyfriends? Yeah,” Gavin clarified, “I’m in, if you are.” 

His tongue felt too old for the word. Mid-thirties implied an entirely different vernacular, but its use filled him with a light-headed giddiness. Akin to the rush he got as a college kid texting his crush. Love and affection certainly looked different over time, but their foundations remained the same. 

The Camaro groaned as RK900 took the spot next to Gavin. He gingerly set the penguin against the windshield, and cupped the back of Gavin’s head. 

They kissed. 

Chromatic lights colored their skin and the reflective surface of the vehicle. Even in the dense, concrete wasteland of cars, it felt, for a moment, like Gavin and RK900 were the only two people in existence. One’s lips slid across the other’s to the backdrop of artificial explosions, easing up only when Gavin needed to take a breath. 

RK900 drove home, while Gavin passed out in the passenger seat, cuddling the stuffed penguin. His fleeting dreams surged towards a new future—a togetherness he’d been lacking for most of his life. 

Gavin smiled. 

**_March 2040_ **

Three sharp, staccato knocks echoed through the living room. The place was in disarray, drop cloths and tools scattered all over. Gavin dropped his paintbrush on a splattered sheet of plastic, and wiped the sweat off his brow. 

“You wanna help a guy out here, Nines?” Gavin yelled. 

RK900 took a brief detour through the room, juggling a precarious stack of paint cans, hammers, and wooden planks that defied gravity. He shook his head and continued on his warpath towards the main hallway. 

“Thanks for nothin’!” Gavin rolled his eyes. 

He twisted the front door knob, and it opened without a sound, thanks to the precisely oiled hinges and perfectly sanded edges of the frame—RK900’s handiwork. The android seemed to enjoy home renovation almost as much as solving murder mysteries. A puzzle was a puzzle, after all. Having a leveler built into one’s brain also helped. 

“Gav!” Garrett’s voice was rough, with an almost melodic quality. He dropped the six pack he’d been holding, and opened his arms wide to his estranged son. 

They hugged—a long overdue reunion—and a weight lifted from Gavin’s shoulders. 

“Glad you called, kid.” Garrett stepped back, but not before ruffling Gavin’s hair. “I caught sight of the old girl in the driveway, and she’s lookin’ nice. Still run good?” 

“Most of the time,” said Gavin, “when she feels like it.” 

For a moment, they stood there, father in front of son. Gavin didn’t know what to say. Somehow, though, Garrett managed to vacuum away all the awkwardness. He exuded a peaceful aura—posture easygoing and relaxed, with a latent kindness infused into his muted green eyes. 

“Say, dad,” Gavin fumbled over his words, “I, uh, I got someone I want you to meet…” 

“Yeah?” Garrett’s eyes lit up and a grin rapidly crossed his face. Infectious, it spread to Gavin, who couldn’t halt a smile of his own. He stuck his head into the house and called for RK900. 

“He’s doin’ some shit, but he’ll be out in a minute or thirty.” Gavin shrugged. “Nines’s just single minded like that.” 

Gavin grabbed a beer from the six pack, and led Garrett to the porch swing. They talked shop, catching up on life, each presenting bizarre stories of coworkers and neighbors. It felt right, watching a jovial Garrett slap his knees, after all this time. Excitement fluttered in Gavin’s stomach. He slouched against an oversized pillow, and glanced towards the front door, eagerly waiting for RK900 to join them outside. 

_**//Camaro End** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like to think, down the line, they get married and start their own PI firm, with cushy offices in downtown Detroit’s renovated train station. RK900 regrets everything and nothing, meets one of the other members of his series, and realizes he def made the right choice to try for a non-spy life. Gavin eventually retires his Camaro and keeps it in a special room in the basement. They move out west in his fifties or sixties; and his eighties are spent bickering with RK900 over whether or not he’ll sign up for digital consciousness reproduction tech (he does, when the gravity of his own mortality hits him)
> 
> Anyways, these boys are the trashiest couple, but I love them soooooo much. Thanks for reading my thinly veiled, horny 3am thoughts about these two. Fumes and wacky G9 sexcapades are all that keep me going these days 
> 
> Also!!! I really appreciate everyone who took the time to read, kudos, or comment on this fic. Y’all’s support helped me push through to the end, and I couldn’t have done it without you 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏 
> 
> Come talk G9 nonsense with me @Vapedrone

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to my buddy Jana for being a huge enabler.  
> In the span of 48 hours, no less than 4 people mentioned Gavin at a car wash in my presence, and then this happened. Thank god too, cuz I wrote a whole thing about them banging on top of a car, soaking wet, ages ago, and now I finally have a repository for that


End file.
